


Anthony and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

by jane_x80



Category: NCIS
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-19 19:44:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17008020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jane_x80/pseuds/jane_x80
Summary: It is two days before Christmas and Tony is having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Will Gibbs help make it better or will he make it worse?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geminiangel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geminiangel/gifts).



> Happy Holidays to geminiangel!
> 
> Love from your Secret Santa.
> 
> \-----------------  
> 01 JAN 2019: See the end notes for the musical influence, etc. <3

It all started with Tony’s alarm not going off and Tony sleeping a couple of hours extra, given that he’d gotten back from the Navy Yard somewhere around 0300 the previous night. The case they were on had gotten hot and they had gone at it full tilt for the last four days. And now that Tony was finally allowed to collapse in his bed, bad guys caught, the most important paperwork taken care of, he’d literally passed out, sleeping like the dead until he jerked awake, with that terrible feeling in his gut, like something bad had just happened and he just hadn’t discovered yet what it was. He patted himself down, checking, in case he was bleeding or his guts were somehow hanging out of his belly or something, or on the off chance that he was waking up tied up or something. What? It wouldn’t be the first time any of these things had happened to him in real life – what the hell was his life anyway? – but he seemed to be unharmed. He looked around his room. He was at home, in his own bed, unhurt, perfectly intact, so why was there still that feeling of dread pooling in the pit of his stomach?

It was odd. His room was so bright. He almost never saw his bedroom so sunlit in the mornings. He got up early, even on weekends, to at least get in a run before work every morning and to get an extra long run in on weekends. With all the running that he’d had to do in his career, he needed to make sure he was ready to do it and ready to go as fast and as long as he needed to, so he really did try not to deviate from his running schedule too much. On the weekends, he could always make up for getting up early for his run by napping on his la-z-boy in front of the TV while watching football or whatever sport might be in season.

But today was a work day, he realized, so it shouldn’t be this sunny in his room. Right? He should’ve been up at the crack of dawn, running mostly in the dark, before showering and doing his usual morning routine, and getting to work by 0730 at the latest? That was his normal schedule. So what the hell was this whole bright sunlight thing streaming through his windows, bright enough that it was starting to hurt his eyes?

He glanced over to his bedside table to check out his digital clock. And the numbers were dark. Not even blinking zeros like it did that one time he lost power temporarily overnight due to a thunderstorm. His clock was completely dark. He smacked it, but nothing happened. He checked his phone – which was also completely dead despite being plugged into the charger. What the hell was going on?

Tony frowned. What time was it? How late was it, and how much trouble was he in with Gibbs for being a) late and b) incommunicado? Gibbs really hated it when anyone broke Rule 3. Given the bright sunlight, Tony had evidently overslept and not by a little.

He sprang out of bed and almost fell over in surprise when ice cold water splashed up his bare leg. His bedroom floor was wet. Not just wet, but water was pooled almost halfway up his ankles. He ran to the bathroom, splashing through the frigid water, to make sure that he hadn’t left his bathroom tap on or anything and didn’t see anything amiss, other than the water covering the floor. He ran out into the kitchen, again, to make sure that his kitchen sink and dishwasher weren’t leaking, and nothing seemed to be out of place. He even checked his ceilings in case it was leaking from upstairs, but it didn’t seem to be. Yet water was everywhere in his apartment. He realized that nothing that usually displayed the time digitally – like his microwave or his stove – was even lit up. He opened his refrigerator and yeah, the light didn’t come on.

There was no power in the apartment. He flicked a couple of lights on and off just to be sure, and nothing happened. He sloshed to the front door, wrenched it open, and saw that the hallway was also covered in water and a couple of his neighbors and it looked like the building super were out there.

As it turned out, one of the main water pipes in the building had burst at the end of their hallway and every apartment on the floor was completely flooded. They had had to turn the power off for the entire building to ensure that nobody got accidentally electrocuted, what with the inch or so of water covering the whole floor, and dripping down to the floors below.

The insurance claims were going to be ridiculous, Tony and his neighbors lamented. Unfortunately, power was off, and they had of course turned the water off, so Tony had neither this morning. A neighbor told him that it was after 10:30 and Tony was so incredibly late for work it wasn’t even funny. He borrowed a neighbor’s cell phone to call Gibbs, reaching his voicemail, so he left a short message telling him why he was running late.

But now, Tony had to get to work. He went back to his apartment and didn’t really have a lot of time to coordinate his outfit – not to mention he wasn’t going to be able to shower before work, no water and no time. So he brushed his teeth quickly, rinsing using a bottle of water from the fridge, pulled on a pair of dark jeans and a dress shirt, and padded down the stairs barefoot, his sneakers in his backpack and his dead phone in his pocket. It was absolutely the most fun thing he could think of, sloshing barefoot through freezing water in a building with no power and therefore no heat in DC in December. Yup. It absolutely made the top ten things he never ever wanted to do ever again. But he made it to his car, stopped to slip his socks and shoes on, and tried to start the car.

Which then _refused_ to start. The engine was sluggish and didn’t really want to turn over. Tony tried and tried to start the car, and then rushed to check under the hood. He probably needed a jump start. They had had to keep his car lights on in the woods last night to help them see for a while and maybe that had worn the battery down. He’d complained about it last night but had been told in no uncertain terms to ‘suck it up’. Well, the joke was definitely on him now.

Tony slammed his car door shut and kicked at the tire in anger, muttering angrily, before he started towards the bus stop two blocks away. He’d chosen this location partly because a bus went every half an hour almost directly to the Navy Yard. But of course, he was a block away when he saw the bus coming, so he started running – well, he did miss his usual run this morning, so maybe this little sprint would count – but he was just too far away and got to the bus stop about ten seconds after the bus pulled away.

“Goddammit!” Tony kicked the bus stop, which only caused his toe to throb in pain. Especially after he’d kicked his car tire with the same foot.

He checked his watch. The next bus would get there in a half hour and if he waited for it, it would be close to noon before he got to work. Besides, he had missed his usual morning run. He could just run to work. It wasn’t like he was wearing a suit and tie or anything. If he ran flat out, he could make it to work in twenty, maybe twenty five minutes, tops.

Sighing, he shrugged the backpack on securely before he started loping down the sidewalk headed to work. He pounded the pavement, getting to a comfortable pace before he pushed himself. He was late enough already, he didn’t need Gibbs accusing him of strolling in. So by the time he actually got to work, he was sweating profusely under his winter coat. Luckily it hadn’t snowed recently so the sidewalks were clear or he might have broken a leg trying to get to work this way.

He might not have injured himself getting to work on foot, but he hadn’t had a shower this morning before he ran all the way to work so when the elevator spat him out on the squad room floor, suffice it to say he wasn’t at his best. Sweat was running down his face, and he could feel his shirt sticking to his body under his winter coat. He didn’t even want to think about what he must smell like.

“Tony, you are in so much trouble!” Ziva was immediately in his face.

“Not in the mood,” he growled at her, trying to get out of his coat and backpack at the same time. Which was not a good idea. He ended up struggling to free himself from both items with Ziva and McGee both giggling at him, until Gibbs yanked the backpack and coat off of him from behind in one rough move, which truly surprised him and caused him to squeak.

“Here,” Gibbs told him curtly, shoving the backpack and coat in his face and walking to his desk without waiting to see if Tony had it, which meant that the bag and the coat both ended up on the floor. And again, both Ziva and McGee laughed at that.

Tony glared at them both as he bent over to retrieve the items he’d dropped. He kicked his backpack roughly under his desk, but the tip of his big toe accidentally caught on the bottom of the desk – which ow! Not the same damn foot again! But he swallowed his pain, slung his coat over the wall of his cubicle, and sat to plug his cell phone in before he even put away his badge and gun.

Luckily for Tony, now that Gibbs was back at his desk, neither Tweedle-dee nor Tweedle-dum dared to come over and bug him so he took a moment to center himself, boot up his computer, and check his phone messages. First, his work phone, since the message waiting light was flashing. Besides, his cell phone was still only starting to boot back up after being completely drained of power.

He picked up the phone and checked his work voicemail. Unfortunately, there were a couple of messages that were concerning to him.

_Hi, this is a message for Agent DiNozzo. We were unable to deposit your paycheck into the bank account we have on record, as apparently it has been suspended. Please call Payroll at extension *12 to discuss._

_Hello, Agent DiNozzo? This is Gary from Payroll. Please give us a call back urgently at extension *12._

Tony frowned as he listened to these messages. His bank account had been _suspended_? What the fuck was going on?

He picked up the phone on his desk and dialed extension *12, and was on hold when his cell phone came back on and started beeping with missed calls and text messages. There were a few increasingly concerned text messages from McGee, which somehow made Tony feel better. At least someone had missed him. There were fourteen missed calls from Gibbs and the only message he’d left was short and curt:

_DiNozzo. If you’re dead in a ditch somewhere, I’m going to kill you. Get your ass to work right now._

Which, if you knew Gibbs-ese, was practically a love note. In his head, Tony translated that message to something close to: “Dear Tony, I’m concerned about your unexcused absence at work today. I hope all is well. Please call if you need help. Don’t make me order McGee to call the hospitals and morgues to locate you, because I will, and it will kill me if you are hurt or worse. Love, Gibbs.”

That curt little message warmed the cockles of Tony’s heart and he saved it, as it might come in handy if he was depressed. Hearing the concern in Gibbs’ voice always made him feel like he was still somehow important to his boss, even though the team tended to make fun of him.

But then came the messages from his bank. Apparently, someone had tried to hack into his accounts and drain them, and when the bank’s security measures had kicked in, all of his accounts had immediately been frozen. Which meant that every transaction, including his payroll, wouldn’t go through.

Tony smacked his face and groaned. Which meant that when he’d used his bank card to pay for his last minute flight to Turks and Caicos for Christmas in two days yesterday evening had probably bounced. Which meant that he’d missed his window to buy the ticket. Which meant that his three day vacation to sunny Turks and Caicos had been canceled.

God only knew what other payments were bouncing off his accounts at this moment. Tony groaned and slammed his forehead on the table, his cell phone in one ear, and still on hold on his desk phone in the other ear.

“Gary Dickerson,” his desk phone came back to life. Tony scrambled to get his head together to have a coherent conversation. He was still sweating from his run and so he started pulling at the front of his shirt, flapping it a little, to try to air himself and cool down some.

“Hi, Gary? This is Tony DiNozzo. I got a message about my direct deposit not going through?” Tony started.

“Agent DiNozzo, we have been trying to reach you all morning.”

“Call me Tony. I know. I’m sorry. It’s just been a perfect storm of all the bad things happening in one morning,” Tony said apologetically. “I’m so sorry about this all. But listen, I just got the message from my bank, and my account was being hacked apparently, so they froze all activity on it, everything, including deposits.”

“That is a problem, Tony.”

“I know! So I am not sure what’s going on with my accounts, I’m going to call them back right after this.”

“Let us know and we can either cut you a physical check for this pay period, or you can wait until the next pay period to get two paychecks together.”

“You wouldn’t be able to do an off cycle direct deposit?” Tony rubbed his forehead. He hadn’t had to deposit a physical check in eons. Who even wrote physical checks these days? He tried not to sigh too loudly.

“No, unfortunately we wouldn’t be able to make an exception since the fault laid in your account status, and not in our payroll.”

“No, of course. I understand. Let me call my bank and figure out what the hell is going on…” Tony sighed audibly.

“I really hope it’s not some kind of identity theft, Agent DiNozzo. You don’t want to mess with that shit,” at least Gary was sympathetic.

“God, I really hope not. But thanks for your patience. I’ll get back to you once I know what’s going on.”

“Of course.”

Tony exchanged a couple more pleasantries before he ended the call – there was no need to be mean to Payroll or HR. And besides, it wasn’t their fault his accounts had been hacked. God. Tony didn’t even know what that even _meant_. Hacked? Did bank security somehow end up getting hacked and a bunch of accounts had to be suspended until everything was re-verified? Or had his account been targeted? And if it had been a targeted attack, could it be one of the numerous people that he’d put in jail over the years coming after him, or one of their loved ones? Or was it something as simple as identity theft? Not that identity theft was simple, necessarily, but it was at least impersonal and sometimes an impersonal attack was okay. What was he even thinking? An impersonal attack was always better than a personalized attack on him. _Always_.

He sighed and rubbed his face. Why was everything so goddamned complicated? Why was this his life? He needed to call his homeowner’s insurance to figure out what to do about his apartment, and he had to figure out his car. But first, he needed to figure out his bank account because everything else was probably going to require an unfrozen bank account. And shit, it was the day before his mortgage payment hit so he definitely needed to get everything unfrozen so he wouldn’t default on a mortgage payment. Creditors viewed mortgage payment issues in a very bad light. He needed to get his bank account bank on track, so after he hung up with Payroll, he called the bank.

He was put through to the account manager pretty quickly.

“Mr DiNozzo?”

“Yes.”

“We need for you to verify your identity in person,” the woman was kind but she wouldn’t budge.

“I thought that that was why you had those security questions defined?” Tony was confused.

“Look, Mr DiNozzo, we need to verify that you are who you say you are.”

“So it wasn’t just some identity theft thing?”

“No. Your account was the only one affected, and whoever did it knew two of the three answers to your security questions. They also were able to provide what looked to almost be adequate identification.”

“Here? In DC?”

“No they were out in New York City.”

“I was here in DC yesterday.”

“Which is why you need to come in and we need to re-verify everything in person. Bring two forms of identification, a piece of mail that was sent to your current residence, that we assume is the address on the account record, an old paystub, and your checkbook. We will of course need a signature verification,” the manager told him.

“Right,” Tony sighed. “Look, my paycheck, which is normally direct deposited into the account didn’t go through because of this.”

“Bring in a physical paycheck. That can take the place of an old paystub for verification purposes, and we can deposit it into your account once we unfreeze it.”

“Oh good,” Tony rubbed his eyes. “Because my mortgage hits tomorrow.”

“We don’t want to disrupt your life more than we need to, Mr DiNozzo.”

“No, no, of course. I understand. I’ll try to get down to your office soon.”

“Thank you for your patience.”

They were about to hang up when Tony suddenly wondered. “Did you guys get a hold of whoever it was who tried to impersonate me yesterday and start this whole thing?” Was it one of the people he’d been responsible for putting in jail?

“His ID showed him to also be Anthony DiNozzo, that’s all I can tell you.”

“Anthony DiNozzo. In New York, you say?” Tony suddenly felt the blood drain from his face, leaving him feeling cold. He had a terrible suspicion…

“Yes.”

Tony sighed. “Let me guess, he knew my mother’s maiden name and my mother’s birth date?”

The manager made a noise of surprise. “Yes?”

“But he didn’t know the name of my childhood best friend.”

“No. No, he didn’t.”

“Of course he didn’t,” Tony couldn’t help the bitterness in his response.

“Sir, do you _know_ who it is who tried to gain access to your bank account?”

“Yeah, yeah I think I do,” Tony had to put his head down on the desk. Of course he knew who it was now. Who else would know his mother’s maiden name and even his mother’s birthdate, but would have no clue who his childhood best friend was, who would need money desperately enough to steal it? It had to be Senior. It had to.

“Do you want to call the police? Get this person arrested?” the manager prodded him.

“No. No. That won’t be necessary,” Tony sighed. “I’ll take care of it.”

“There should be consequences for this. What this person did is illegal and was quite possibly a precursor to theft.”

“I know,” Tony said tiredly. “I know. I know.”

“But you _know_ them,” she sounded so kind, it made Tony want to tear up.

“Yeah,” his voice was hoarse.

“And you don’t want to call the cops on them.” She didn’t bother to make it sound like a question.

“No.”

She sighed. “Mr DiNozzo, I take my lunch between one and two o’clock every afternoon. If you aren’t able to get here before one, please come after two. I’ll ensure we get your accounts straightened out,” she said. “I’m familiar with your case, and this way you won’t have to keep explaining everything to someone different every time. My name is Yasmeen Miller.”

“Thank you, Ms Miller. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Tony was suddenly exhausted. His apartment was flooded and had no water or power. His car refused to start this morning. He’d had to run to work and hadn’t even managed to get a shower in yet. His bank accounts were frozen because his own father had tried to gain unlawful access to it. His paycheck hadn’t been deposited, his last minute beach vacation had been canceled, and his mortgage payment would bounce. It was just not a good day. To say the least.

A heavy stack of folders was dropped onto his desk, making him jump.

“You don’t need to make your walk of shame _that_ obvious this morning,” Gibbs hissed at him.

“What?” he stared in confusion at his boss. He had no idea what Gibbs was talking about. Walk of shame? Tony had already had a very difficult day so far, and it wasn’t even quite noon yet, and he could already feel a migraine trying to creep into his head. He didn’t know if he could take much more. “What are you talking about?”

Gibbs gave him a mockingly knowing look, judgmental eyes flicking up and down his body.

Tony groaned. “First, do you even _know_ what a ‘walk of shame’ is? Because it normally means I should be wearing what I wore yesterday, which I _obviously_ am not,” he couldn’t help but talk back, looking down at his clothes. When his world was crashing down around his ears, he, Anthony D. DiNozzo Jr, still had his sass. “And second, a walk of shame assumes that I had time to go trawling for anonymous sex after leaving the office at 0230 last night and while I’m no wilting wallflower and I’m reasonably certain that if I _had_ been that determined to get laid last night I could’ve found someone willing, a warm body to let some steam off with, or whatever. _But_ the sad truth is, even _I_ wasn’t really in the mood to get down and do the nasty at 0230 last night after working four days straight and having had about four hours of sleep cumulatively in the last seventy two hours. All I wanted was to crash on my own bed _alone_ and _sleep_. So no. This was _not_ a walk of shame. This was a crisis and I’ll thank you to at least consider that I had a really good excuse for not being here on time this morning. The one I left on your voicemail when I called you using my neighbor’s cell phone.”

Gibbs’ eyebrows were raised and Tony wondered if maybe he’d taken it too far. But at this point, he just couldn’t gauge him anymore. He was completely off kilter. He wished desperately that it _was_ a walk of shame, because that would be far less complicated, and at least if it had been a walk of shame, he would have presumably had access to a shower before putting on his clothes from the day before and coming in to work. He wouldn’t have had to wade through an apartment with no power or water. He wouldn’t have had to run to work today. He would have at least had a cup of coffee before walking in to work today.

And then from Gibbs’, McGee’s and Ziva’s looks of surprise, he realized that he’d actually said most of that out loud. He usually was better at keeping his inner monologue, you know, _inside_.

He groaned and faceplanted back down on his table. Because just like that, he knew that his day had just gotten infinitely worse.

A gentle hand on the nape of his neck made him almost jump out of his skin. He’d been expecting the mother of all head slaps but instead, the soft, gentle touch of those calloused fingers surprised and confused him. He peeked up at Gibbs, half expecting his boss to follow that with a head slap, but he was wrong.

“Finish your paperwork. Then we’re on cold cases for a couple of days,” Gibbs murmured and Tony heard the apology hidden in the words and the soft caress of Gibbs’ fingers through the short hair at the base of his neck. For anyone else, that would have been an apology and maybe even an apology muffin or something.

He nodded and sat up, pulling his keyboard towards him. Right. Paperwork. He could do that. He still had a ton of paperwork to fill out for their previous case, and at least the routine of the daily minutiae and boringness of paperwork would calm him somewhat.

“You can shower at lunch,” Gibbs told him magnanimously as he walked away.

“Thank you, Boss,” he gave Gibbs a hopelessly grateful look, trying his damnedest not to let it morph into the ‘I’m hopelessly in love with you even though I know you think I’m scum, Boss’ look.


	2. Chapter 2

Once he pulled himself together, Tony realized he had a bunch of things he needed to accomplish, so first, he called Payroll and asked Gary to cut him a physical check, which he promised he would pick up whenever it was ready. He then called his father’s number and left him a curt voicemail asking about his bank account, and even though he kept telling himself that he wasn’t going to do it, he wished his father a Merry Christmas before he hung up the phone. Who called people to politely accuse them of attempting to steal their money and then wished them a Merry Christmas? Tony DiNozzo, that’s who, apparently. Next, he found the number for his homeowner’s insurance company and was on hold for a while, during which time he multitasked and worked on the rest of his paperwork. When he finally got to speak to a person, the insurance company told him that they would need send a person to inspect his apartment before they could do anything. They scheduled something for the first available time for the inspection. Then he called the airline and tried to convince them to take a credit card number instead to secure his reservations which had expired overnight, but he’d missed the deadline and there were no tickets available since his payment hadn’t gone through.

Tony muttered to himself under his breath about stupid banks and stupid bank cards and stupid fathers and stupid canceled beach vacations. And while Tony was finishing up the paperwork, his building super called to inform him that they had to close down the building, assess the damages, and work to find the right contractors to fix everything.

“So how long is the building going to be inhabitable?” Tony asked.

“The building? Probably a week? But your floor, which was the floor hit the worst, and the two floors below yours, it’ll probably at least twice as long as that,” the super was sympathetic. “Most probably longer, they think.”

Tony sighed. Of course. Homeless for two weeks, quite probably more than that.

“Can we come and get some of our stuff?”

“Yeah. That won’t be a problem. Be careful, there’s no power and it’s very slippery where the standing water is starting to freeze. But we’re going to get a better price for the renovations, if everything is done in one go, and it will be beautiful again. It just may take a little time, especially for the areas that suffered the most.”

“I understand,” Tony sighed.

“Give your insurance company this case number for their reference, it’s the overall reference for the whole building,” the super read out a case number which Tony dutifully jotted down. “They’ll probably reimburse you for a hotel, too, while they fix up your floor.”

After the call ended, he sat, palms pressed to his eyes, just breathing for a long minute. He must have looked really bad because McGee put a to go cup down in front of him, his hazel eyes soft and sympathetic.

“Thanks, Tim,” Tony said softly.

McGee nodded, and watched as Tony slurped the coffee greedily. A split second later, when Tony had spat the liquid back out, McGee and Ziva were both on the floor, in hysterics.

“Did you put soap in my coffee?” Tony grimaced.

“Oh my god, your face!” McGee was wheezing with laughter.

Tony put the cup down on his desk and quietly stood, refusing to look at anyone. Now his only clean clothes were coffee spattered, his desk was a ruin of damp coffee, his father was trying to steal from him, and all he wanted to do was crawl under his desk and cry. He brushed his shirt down ineffectively and just stared dumbly at his hands, feeling his eyes heat up. He was absolutely _not_ going to break down and cry at his desk like a chump. He was a DiNozzo and DiNozzos didn’t cry. It was time to suck it up. So he pushed his chair back and just headed for the men’s room. He washed his hands, swabbed at his coffee stained shirt with a wet paper towel, and washed his face, letting the hot tears fall from his eyes as he splashed water on his face. It was just a bit of water. Because you know, DiNozzos didn’t cry.

He couldn’t even blame McGee for this prank. After all, he’d pranked the probie more than enough times over the years. But today was just such a bad day for something like this. He didn’t even want to retaliate. He just wanted to go home and re-start the day. But he didn’t even have a home to go to right now, so there was that little problem. He stayed in the bathroom, just breathing, for a few moments.

Finally, he was calmer and he dried off, walking back to his desk in silence. He placed the offending coffee cup into his trash as quietly as he could, and began running wet wipes over the coffee spattered items on his desk.

“You okay, Tony?” McGee’s voice surprised him.

“I needed a shower anyway, right?” he murmured, not looking away from the task of wiping down his Mighty Mouse stapler. He didn’t need to see the faked concern or the triumphant gleam in McGee’s eyes. He just wanted to clean up and get back to work.

He ignored his teammates, looked over his paperwork, printed it out, and signed it, putting the little stack on Gibbs’ desk, without meeting anyone’s eyes. He sat back down and flipped open the first cold case file, immersing himself into the case. Cases, he could do. Cases he could solve. The whole thing with his father trying to steal from him? _That_ , his mind couldn’t process.

Borrow. Steal. Whatever. It wouldn’t even be the first time. The reason why Tony had needed that athletic scholarship for college was that his father had drained the educational trust that his mother had left him. His father had exploited the fact that they had the same name, barring the ‘Junior’ bit more than once. Tony had been the most destitute eighteen year old for someone who had grown up wealthy because Senior had raided every single bank account and trust account that Tony’s name, that their shared name, had been on. It was a pattern of behavior. So much so, that when he turned thirty and came into another, _secret_ trust fund – one that Senior did not know about – that his mother had left him, he had asked his cousin Crispian and Uncle Clive Paddington to both be co-signees, meaning that he would have no access to his trust unless he had either Crispian’s or Clive’s approval. Which, while it smarted to have to ask for permission to access his own damned money, and neither Crispian nor Clive would ever ask him to justify his expenses or withdrawals from his accounts, it was a necessary precaution to ensure that when he did need the money, his father wouldn’t have ‘borrowed’ it for his own purposes. Clive had been ready to send assassins to kill his father when Tony had told him his reasons for needing Clive or Crispian to co-sign his accounts. That Tony had lived on the tiniest shoestring budget for years because his father had appropriated all of the money that his mother had left specifically in his name, exploiting the loophole in the fact that Tony had the same name as his father. Because Clive had been under the assumption that Tony had everything he needed financially, given what his mother had left him after she died, and he hadn’t expected for Tony to have no money for his education once he graduated high school.

Crispian had come up with the suggestion that Tony should just change his name and eliminate that whole thing as a way for Senior to steal from him, but Tony had dug in his heels at that. It was _his_ name, too. It had been given to him by his parents, by his _mother_ , and it was _his name_ and his identity. Changing his name this late in the game, while it would certainly preserve his fortunes, felt incredibly wrong to him. Senior might have the same name, but it didn’t make Tony any less who he was. So he’d adamantly decided to keep his name. Even though Clive and Crispian had both told him they would find it perfectly acceptable if he’d wanted to take the Paddington name instead. But that was neither here nor there. Senior was here, still trying to ‘borrow’ or ‘invest’ Tony’s money without getting his permission, and it was Christmas, and Tony was homeless and right now, penniless. Shit, he’d better check his credit cards to ensure that Senior hadn’t maxed them out, too.

And of course, since it was so close to Christmas, both Clive and Crispian had gone to the annual Paddington family Christmas retreat – someplace in the Swiss Alps where nobody had access to telephone or email. Which meant that Tony couldn’t even get an emergency withdrawal out of his trust accounts until after the new year. Which meant that he seriously needed to get his bank account unfrozen and his paycheck deposited immediately, or he was looking at an incredibly bleak Christmas.

Why the hell had he said no when Clive had called him to invite him to the family retreat last month? Oh yeah. Because of work. Because of Gibbs. Because he, Tony, was a stupid idiot who didn’t want to leave Gibbs high and dry during the holidays, because Gibbs tended to work holidays to give other agents, those who had families and obligations, to have the time off. And since Tony was his fucking loyal Saint Bernard, Tony also embraced this incredibly lonely lifestyle.

Yeah. That’s why. It didn’t help that he’d been hopelessly in love with Gibbs for years.

These were all of the things that, added up, meant that Tony’s life sucked: a) his father habitually stole from him, b) he was hopelessly in love with a man and it was completely and utterly unrequited, c) he was homeless and penniless for Christmas, and d) well, his shirt was sticking to him in a combination of dried sweat and coffee, his big toe was still throbbing from the multiple kicking, and he could already feel the beginnings of a blister at the bottom of his foot, because he’d run to work in shoes not meant for running. And although, in the long run, item d) was really more a nuisance than a real reason that Tony’s life sucked, it was just symptomatic of his life. It just all sucked. Especially today.

Could Tony just go somewhere and restart the day completely? Because that would just be perfect. Especially if it meant that he’d accepted Clive’s invitation and was skiing at the Swiss Alps somewhere, and he’d also changed his name which meant that his father wouldn’t have tried hacking into his account to steal from him. Again.

Tony forced his mind back to the cold case file. Back to something he could control. He caught motion out of the corner of his eyes and glanced up to see that Ziva and McGee were gesturing and making faces to each other. He rolled his eyes and turned back to the cold case. Nothing worth paying attention to.

He relaxed into the case file, reading through everything carefully and checking for details on his computer. He received a call from Payroll telling him that his check was ready for him to pick up, and he checked the time. It was just gone 1300, so he wasn’t going to be able to catch Yasmeen Miller before her lunch break which meant that he had about an hour to get there. Maybe he’d be able to take a shower before he had to leave. He’d pick up his check from payroll and head out there. He double checked his backpack and found enough identification, and a random bill stuffed in there that had been sent to his apartment. He should be ready to verify his identity and get his bank accounts straightened out.

And then a detail in the case caught his eye. He stared at it, the details niggling in his brain, and that familiar feeling of excitement joined the pool of dread that was still in his gut. He was on to something with the case. He checked a few things, went through the cold case file again, checked the database, and then he scurried off to the Records Room, coming back with three more case files.

“What do you got?” Gibbs was immediately on him when he got back to his desk.

“I don’t know. But I think these cases are connected,” Tony said distractedly, his mind completely focused on the case.

“Talk to me.”

So the team gathered around the MCRT while Tony awkwardly tried to talk through his initial gut feel, even though he hadn’t quite pinpointed what it was that had caught his eye about these cases. He pulled up photos from the different case files he’d pulled on the plasma. And slowly, he started to see the big picture.

The four files were murders of female petty officers. They had all been found dead in Rock Creek Park. Cause of death was different for all four murders, but Tony had spotted one similarity. They had each been bound at the time of death. Lividity and rope bruises showed that they had all been hog tied. There was also an obscured injection site – between the toes of each of the victim – and bloodwork showed traces of heroin. All four had been raped before they were murdered.

“I think that this guy is a serial killer,” Tony finished.

“You always think it’s a serial killer, Tony,” Ziva scoffed.

“No, he always thinks it’s the wife,” McGee snickered.

Tony ignored them, too caught up in what he was seeing now. “He’s disguising himself by varying the way he actually kills the women, but I think that the murders aren’t what gets him off. He only kills to silence the vics. I think he needs the ritual of hog tying them, drugging them up, and raping them.”

“The crimes are spread out over six or seven years,” Gibbs frowned.

“Yeah. But I bet if we called DC Metro, we’d find more vics – women aged thirty to forty five, hogtied, injected with heroin, injection site probably in the webbing between their toes somewhere, raped, but murdered in a variety of ways,” Tony began chewing on his fingernails. “The cause of death is immaterial.”

“How did you even see this?” McGee wanted to know, frowning at the plasma.

“It’s the hog tying. It’s really specific,” Tony told him. “I mean I’m all for rope bondage and all, that’s kinky. And certainly, being hog tied can be incredibly erotic. But from what I can see of the case files, none of these vics were really into that sort of thing. And they were so very violated afterwards. They didn’t consent to this. They _couldn’t_ consent because they were drugged, which is always a no-no when doing this sort of thing for shits and giggles. And these vics, they certainly didn’t consent to being raped and then murdered.”

“The rope used is not special,” Ziva objected, skimming through the information. “We cannot tie the crimes together using the rope.”

“No, the type of rope used isn’t special or even consistent in these cases,” Tony agreed. “Which means that our perp can just buy rope at any old hardware store. These are the most commonly purchased ropes in the country, according to what Abby said in these files,” he tapped one of the folders. “So our guys, he’s not trying to get caught. He’s not obsessing about a particular kind of rope with a particular kind of unique color or anything like that. It’s not the rope. It’s the act of taking these unsuspecting women somewhere, hog tying them, and then… everything else. The rope is just a tool. He’ll use any old rope that will do the job, but it’s got to be rope and not like a zip tie because he needs the ritual of hog tying his vics.”

Gibbs was starting to nod. “Verify if Metro has more cases like these,” he told Tony. “McGee, David, go through all the cold case files you can and see if you can find more cases of hog tying.”

They all went back to their desks to get started on their assignments. Tony had just gotten off the phone with one of his contacts from Metro and he’d even called Baltimore PD. He’d decided to widen his scope to see if the cases were specific to DC or if he could find more of them in the surrounding areas. He was focused on the case when Gibbs came stomping by with someone.

Tony looked up to see Gibbs’ father, smiling at him as Gibbs escorted him to his desk.

“What the hell are you doing here, Dad?” he heard Gibbs hiss at his father.

“I just came to spend some time with you at Christmas, Leroy,” Jackson’s tone was cheerful, but even Tony could tell that he wasn’t giving Gibbs a choice in the matter.

“We’re working on a case.”

“You’re always working on a case. That’s why I decided to come to the office instead of hanging around at your house, not knowing if or when you’re planning to come home in the next four days. I brought cookies,” Jackson opened a container and held it out. “Snickerdoodles. Your favorite… they’re your mother’s recipe.”

Tony watched as Gibbs rolled his eyes and sighed, a long put out sigh, before he reached for a cookie. “Fine,” he growled. “You can stay. But you’re leaving tomorrow.”

“But it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow!” Jackson objected.

Gibbs bit into his cookie, looking as if he wished he was biting into something that would scream in pain. Tony had never seen anybody eat a cookie as angrily as Gibbs was right now. Gibbs blinked wordlessly at his father before he turned back to his work. Jackson gave McGee a cookie, and Ziva a cookie, and was at Tony’s desk, holding out the container.

“I made special chocolate dipped ones,” Jackson told him conspiratorially, lifting up the parchment paper lining the first layer of cookies. “Especially for you, since you said you always liked cookies that had chocolate in them.”

“For me?” Tony’s eyes widened, and he broke into a smile.

“Go on,” Jackson urged.

“Thanks,” Tony picked one of the chocolate dipped snickerdoodles, taking the time to sniff it first, and sighing. “Smells awesome.”

“Take another one,” Jackson told him. “You look like you need it.”

Tony looked down at himself and gave Jackson a wry smile. “I’m having kind of a bad day,” he agreed.

“Cookie’ll do you right up.”

Tony grabbed a second cookie, stuffing the first cookie into his mouth right away, and Jackson ruffled his hair, the movement casual and careless. Like he would do to any kid who was hanging around with his son. Tony couldn’t help but blush at that because no one ever touched him like that. In a kind and paternal way. Not even Ducky. Tony thought it was the vibes that he gave off. He knew he wasn’t easy to be around, had a ton of weird quirks, and the only touches he truly understood were touches meant to cause pain, and touches for sexual purposes. Jackson was one of the few people who didn’t seem put off by Tony’s vibes, god bless him.

“Atta boy,” Jackson smiled at him.

And god. Didn’t those words just burn? Jackson’s words caused a lovely warmth to bloom in his heart, and a hot swell of bitterness in his belly. Words that his own father would never say to him, unless it was said facetiously. And apparently, words that he needed to hear, since he found himself responding to them.

He sighed, not wanting to start psychoanalyzing himself right now.

“Here, why don’t you take my spare chair,” Tony took the folders he’d spread out on the extra chair and pulled it around the desk. “And you can make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Jackson said gratefully.

“Stop kissing ass and get back to work, DiNozzo,” Gibbs snarled at him.

Tony turned to look at Gibbs in confusion. At _his_ Gibbs. No. His boss, Gibbs. Bossman. Fuck. It was confusing when there were two Gibbses in the room. What the hell was the plural for Gibbs anyway? But was Gibbs yelling at him for giving the other Gibbs a chair? What the fuck was going on?

“Huh?” was all he could say.

“Get. Back. To. Work,” Gibbs gritted out.

Tony’s mouth fell open. “Are you actually objecting to me giving your father a chair to sit on while he waits?”

Gibbs rolled his eyes. “You’re just trying to… curry favor.”

“By giving a man a _chair_?” Tony was still confused. He turned to McGee, who looked confused and concerned. Ziva just looked pleased that there was conflict which was pretty typical of her behavior of late.

“Here,” McGee stood. “Maybe Mr Gibbs can have my spare chair instead?”

“Shut up, McGee,” Gibbs snapped at him.

Tony gave McGee a silent nod of thanks. He could tell that the junior agent was just trying to keep the peace, and maybe if Gibbs objected to one chair, he wouldn’t object if someone else offered Jackson a chair.

“Stop wasting time, DiNozzo, and get back to work. You don’t have to worry about Jackson. He’s going to go wait for me at my house and he’s going to go back to Stillwater tomorrow.”

The look of utter disappointment on Jackson’s face was the last straw for Tony. He couldn’t believe how rude Gibbs was being, to his own father.

“You know what, Mr Gibbs,” he turned to Jackson.

“Jackson, Tony. I’ve told you to call me Jackson a couple times already.”

“Jackson,” Tony’s lips curved upwards in a small smile, and he felt heat rise in his face, at the kindness and just pure fatherliness of Jackson’s tone. “Jackson, you should just take a seat right here behind my desk.” He swept his papers up carelessly into a folder and stuffed it into his backpack. “I’m going to take my lunch. Be back in an hour, and I’ll bring you back a sandwich for lunch, okay?”

Jackson looked at Gibbs, hesitant now.

“Don’t worry about Gibbs. You just sit yourself down,” Tony ushered the older Gibbs behind his desk. “Here, you can have my phone. I have tetris on it and you can hang out and play tetris until I get back.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, DiNozzo?” Gibbs’ voice was soft, and dangerous.

“Taking my lunch break,” Tony said, keeping his tone light and friendly. It was way past 1400 now, and if he didn’t make it to the bank today, he would be even more screwed than he already was.

“You got here late, and you think you’re entitled to a lunch break?” Gibbs growled.

“It’s fine, Tony,” Jackson stood. “I’ll just head back to Leroy’s house.”

“You know what? No, it’s _not_ fine,” Tony growled at Jackson. “Sit down and play tetris. I will bring you back a goddamned sandwich for lunch. And Gibbs, for the record, I might have gotten here late, but unlike Ziva and McGee, I’ve finished all my paperwork _and_ I found a real lead for several cold cases, so if I need to take some time this afternoon to get to the bank, then you’re just…” Tony’s mind went blank. He couldn’t threaten Gibbs with _anything_. If he threatened to quit, Gibbs would just laugh and then Tony would be out of a job because Gibbs would fire him long before he could even hand in his notice. “You’re just going to have to deal with it,” he finished lamely.

He got out his gun and badge and even though he knew that his face was flaming, he tried to give everyone a casual nod goodbye.

“I’m going to have to… ‘deal with it’?” Gibbs asked him, voice quiet and dangerous.

Tony sighed. He’d been so hoping he would be able to leave without any more drama.

“I think you need to rethink this lunch break,” Gibbs tone was threatening.

“I’ll just go,” Jackson stood again, and Tony could see the sadness and disappointment not just in his face, but in his whole body language.

“No. Fuck that,” Tony’s blood was boiling now. “Your father came to see you for Christmas and you’re trying to throw him out? Can’t you just fucking let go of whatever beef it is you think you have with your father? Because whatever it is you think he did that was so wrong, that was so unforgivable, that made you not speak to him for years and years and years, he still came here to spend time with you because he loves you and he wants to be with you during the holidays. He’s a good father and he doesn’t deserve the shit you put him through.”

“Don’t take your daddy issues out on me, DiNozzo,” Gibbs snarled.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know I have daddy issues,” Tony yelled back. The entire day’s worth of frustrations added to his anger and he couldn’t stop the words. “I _know_. You want to know _why_ I have daddy issues? Because I never even _had_ a father. Well I had one but he’s completely and utterly useless! My father _sucks_! _Your_ father forgave you for holding a grudge against him for all these years, and he came to see you for the holidays, while all _my_ father did for me this Christmas was try to hack into my bank account and steal my money, get my account all frozen and suspended, and if I don’t get to the fucking bank today to get that all sorted out, my mortgage payment is going to bounce and I for one am not ready to be homeless because _my_ good for nothing of a father needed money and couldn’t just fucking _ask_ me for it! And here you are, throwing a tantrum because your father came to fucking see you and show you that he cares about you! Let go of the past and get over it! At least your father didn’t try to rob you blind this Christmas!”

Tony grabbed his backpack, whirled away, and stomped down the stairs, satisfied with the silence in the entire squad room after he yelled at Gibbs. He was probably out of a job now, but right now, it didn’t even bother him. Right now, he needed to go pick up his paycheck and get to the bank. He would think about everything else after he got his bank account unfrozen. New job. Someplace to stay until his apartment was fixed. Get his car fixed. Whatever order he could get it done. Well, get the bank account situation fixed first. Everything else would have to wait.


	3. Chapter 3

Gibbs stared at Tony’s back, startled into silence by the younger man’s outburst. Tony slammed the stairwell door shut and he was gone. McGee looked like he was ready to start hyperventilating, and even Ziva looked surprised. Jackson was absolutely shell shocked. He sat down shakily.

“Is it true? About his father?” Jackson asked no one in particular. His voice was faint and a little trembly.

“McGee,” Gibbs growled.

“On it,” McGee answered, sitting down and typing away at his computer. Gibbs sat down and sipped his coffee, trying to slow down his racing pulse. Tony was one of those people who could always affect him. And Tony was usually a lot less blunt in his words. He’d come in sweaty and frazzled, and Gibbs had immediately thought that Tony was flustered because he’d gotten laid and was late in to work. But only after he’d accused the man of pulling off a walk of shame did he realize how upset Tony looked. He’d backpedaled then, and appeased the man, but when Jackson turned up unannounced, treating him like a child while they were at work, and somehow, somehow favoring Tony as if he knew that Tony was Gibbs’ favorite, that just pushed him over the edge and he’d behaved abominably towardsf Tony.

But this time, the Senior Field Agent had struck right back. Apparently he was not in a good mood, and then he’d stomped off to get to the bank and he didn’t even take his coat. It was below freezing out there, and Gibbs worried about him. About his lungs. About the long term effects of the pneumonic plague.

“Did he do all that stuff that he said he did today?” Jackson asked McGee.

McGee nodded. “Yeah. He hasn’t been here very long but he turned in his paperwork and he might have cracked several cold cases in one go.”

“A serial killer,” Gibbs muttered.

“And you _still_ yelled at him?” Jackson asked.

Gibbs sighed and tried to ignore his father. Jackson picked up Tony’s phone and he did, in fact, start playing a game on it, just as Tony had asked him to. Gibbs had to wonder how much Jackson might be in touch with Tony. He’d totally taken to the SFA that time they all had to go to Stillwater to solve that case.

“Oh shit, Boss,” McGee exclaimed a moment later.

“What is it?”

“DiNozzo Senior tried to empty Tony’s bank accounts. Checking and Savings. Yesterday.”

Gibbs went to McGee’s desk to look at his screen. “Are you sure?”

McGee nodded, looking disconsolate now. “They took a copy of Senior’s driver’s license when he submitted his withdrawal request. He almost got through their security but he didn’t have Tony’s bank card, nor the correct answers to the security questions attached to Tony’s accounts.”

Jackson was standing next to Gibbs now, too. “So Tony’s father tried to rob him two days before Christmas?” he asked.

“Looks like it,” Gibbs said grimly.

“Gosh, Boss. It looks like it’s not the first time,” McGee sounded hesitant.

“What do you mean?” Gibbs glared at the junior agent.

McGee sighed. “I decided to look at Tony’s financial records, going back to his childhood, after I found that Senior tried to hack into Tony’s bank account yesterday.”

“And?”

“Looks like he spent everything Tony’s mother left to Tony before he turned eighteen. Tony’s college fund, a trust account, his bank accounts,” McGee sounded sad now.

“Everything?” Jackson asked.

“Left his kid penniless at eighteen, about to start college,” McGee nodded.

“And he just tried to do this again yesterday?” Gibbs could feel his hackles rising. Senior had somehow won the team over that one time they met him, but Gibbs had reserved judgement. And now, Gibbs was definitely not happy with the elder DiNozzo.

“Senior seems to really take advantage of the fact that he and Tony have the same name, essentially,” McGee typed away, clicking through different things on his computer.

“That is not right,” Ziva frowned. They were all standing and crowding around McGee’s computer now.

Gibbs sighed. He would have to apologize to Tony when the man got back from trying to unsnarl his bank accounts. He was just glad that Senior hadn’t managed to empty Tony’s bank accounts this time.

“Okay,” he told the team. “I’ll talk to him about Senior when he gets back. Meantime, get back to work – you need to finish your paperwork and start digging around for these new cases Tony might’ve just connected.”

“Yes, Boss,” McGee was obediently turning back to their work and Ziva slinked back to her desk, presumably to do the same thing but sometimes you never knew with Ziva. Lately, more than ever, she seemed to march to her own beat. Gibbs often wondered about how Eli David must have raised her. She had been the one to kill her own half brother, after all. That had to take a certain kind of person, raised a certain kind of way.

They worked peacefully while Jackson continued to play games on Tony’s phone for a while. Gibbs frowned at that, when he realized that Tony was now out of contact and had broken Rule 3 by leaving his phone with Jackson. He sighed. He’d have to probably let that one slide today, since the situation was ugly enough already between the two of them.

He didn’t know why but Tony’s pathetically obvious need for Jackson’s approval just rubbed him the wrong way. Well, yes. He did know why. He didn’t want his father to think that Tony was better than he was. Even though he personally thought that was true, Gibbs was Jackson’s son. Not Tony. But Tony was a much better son to Jackson than he could ever be. Tony was a much better son to his own father than Senior ever had a right to be treated. Damn the thieving scumbag. And besides, Gibbs wanted to be the one whose opinion mattered to Tony. Not his dad.

That was Gibbs’ deep, dark secret. He kept being so rough on Tony DiNozzo because what he wanted was quite the opposite. He wanted to be the one to get the younger man through the rough days, he wanted to be the one Tony turned to for comfort and approval. He wanted to be the sole recipient of Tony’s affection and loyalty. He didn’t want to share that, not even with Jackson.

He was a terrible person and he knew it. And in the meantime, Tony was out there in the cold without his jacket because Gibbs had been the one to screw up and upset him. He tried not to sigh, knowing that his father was right there, ready to pick up on everything and there was absolutely no way he was going to let his father know about his feelings for Tony.

He kept glancing up at Jackson, watching him as he played on Tony’s phone that was still plugged into the charger. And then Tony’s cell rang, and Jackson accidentally answered the call, even though he was really trying to swipe the screen for his gaming purposes.

“Uh, Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo’s phone?” Jackson made a face as he greeted the caller hesitantly.

Gibbs looked up with interest. Well, Jackson definitely knew Tony if he knew to answer his phone in that manner.

“Uh huh. Uh huh. No, I can give him the message, or you can call back and leave him a voicemail if that’s better. Okay,” Gibbs watched as Jackson pulled a pen out of DiNozzo’s pen holder, and a notepad and began scribbling. “Oh my god! No! That’s what happened this morning? He looked like he was having a bad day. I just didn’t know how bad.”

Gibbs’ ears perked up now, and he got even more concerned at the expression on Jackson’s face, one of disbelief and sympathy.

“And so close to the holidays too,” Jackson shook his head and sighed. “What about the other people on his floor? Uh huh… Gosh. That is just terrible. Yeah. No. I will be sure to tell him. Does he have your number if he needs to call you back? Right. Of course. Yeah. Thanks. I’ll let him know. You have a merry Christmas too.”

Jackson ended the call and frowned at the phone for a moment.

“Problem?” Gibbs couldn’t help but ask.

Jackson rubbed his face. “Did he tell you why he was late this morning?”

“Something about a pipe burst in his apartment?”

Jackson shook his head. “Pipe burst on his floor. A main. Flooded the entire floor, and a couple floors below were affected too. They’re evacuating the building for a week for clean up and restoration, and his floor the super called to say that their original estimate of two weeks to fix his apartment has gone up to a month. It’s Christmas, and nobody wants to start the work until after the New Year.”

“What’s that mean?”

“No power or water in the building until two weeks for the building, at least four weeks for Tony’s floor where the pipe burst flooded the entire floor.”

“How bad was the flood?” Gibbs asked, wondering how Tony’s hardwood flooring would fare if there was standing water.

“Super said water was maybe an inch or so, all over Tony’s floor, including every room of his apartment.”

Tony had babbled something about there not being power in his building, his alarm clock was off, his phone battery run down, and a burst pipe causing some flooding and Gibbs hadn’t paid attention. It just sounded like something Tony would say to Ziva and McGee to obfuscate whatever the truth was, so he’d thought that Tony was just trying to cover his bases. But apparently, his apartment building was flooded and he couldn’t even go back since there was no running water, no electricity and there was an inch of water covering his floor for the next week or so. No wonder he’d been such a mess when he got to work today. And then he’d ranted about his car not starting, missing the bus, and running to work when he got here so yeah, he’d really had a rough morning.

Gibbs was starting to deeply regret some of his words to his agent today. He couldn’t even call to see if the man was doing all right. He’d left his phone with Jackson. Which Gibbs figured, he had to excuse him for that now. Goddamnit.

They were back to working the case and Gibbs kept glancing at his watch. It was taking Tony a long ass time to complete his errand at the bank. Could it be that difficult? Could Senior have done something that complicated for Tony to fix? He hoped it wasn’t too upsetting for his SFA. But when two hours passed, Gibbs was definitely worried and he could tell that so was Jackson. His fingers twitched, itching to just call DiNozzo, but of course his phone was here. While Tony was gone, his desk phone rang a few times, but given that that was his work phone, Gibbs shook his head when Jackson raised an eyebrow, asking him if he should answer. Gibbs knew that Tony didn’t usually take any kind of personal calls on his desk phone so any work related thing, he would prefer they leave a message for Tony to get back to them instead of having his father pick up the phone and take a message.

Finally Gibbs’ cell rang.

“Gibbs,” he answered in his customary growl.

“Agent Gibbs?” he didn’t recognize the voice.

“Yes?”

“Hello, I’m calling from Bethesda General…”

“What happened to DiNozzo?” Gibbs immediately barked at her.

“Yes, I’m calling about Agent Anthony D DiNozzo? I assume you do know him?”

“Of course,” Gibbs rolled his eyes. “What happened?”

“He was brought in for a gunshot wound?” the woman sounded like she was looking through documents.

“ _What_?” Gibbs sprang out of his chair and with a jerk of his head, both Ziva and McGee were grabbing their badges and guns and pulling their coats on. “DiNozzo was shot? Is he all right?”

“I don’t have a status on Agent DiNozzo right now, I’m afraid?” she was apologetic. “I’m just calling because you’re listed as his emergency contact?”

She was one of those people who apparently made every statement sound like a question, which annoyed Gibbs greatly.

“Fine. We’ll be right there.” Gibbs hung up and shrugged his coat on. “Dad, you want to come, too?” he saw that Jackson was standing, looking concerned.

Jackson nodded.

“Let’s move out. McGee, call Dr Pitt and see if he can give us a status on DiNozzo. Make sure they consult him because of DiNozzo’s lungs,” Gibbs snapped out the orders efficiently as the team fell into place behind him and Jackson. “Ziva, call Ducky and see if he can get down to Bethesda, too. We’ll need him to figure things out for us, like he does.”

“Yes, Boss,” both Ziva and McGee nodded and started making calls.

“You just bark and they jump to obey you, huh?” Jackson gave him a small smile.

“Let’s just get to the hospital and figure out how the hell DiNozzo can go to the bank to fix his accounts and end up at the hospital with a gun shot wound,” Gibbs bit out. God. He hoped that Tony was okay. He hoped that Tony wasn’t hurt too badly. But he couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of dread in the pit of his belly.

********* NCIS SESA NCIS SESA *********

**A couple of hours ago…**

Tony was double timing it to the bank, running down the sidewalk _again_. It wasn’t until he left the building that he realized that he’d forgotten his coat and it was _cold_ out. So he ran to the branch of the bank that was closest to the Navy Yard. When he got there, Yasmeen Miller didn’t keep him waiting for very long before he was sitting at her desk with her, in her little work area. Tony showed her his work ID, his badge, his driver’s license, the physical paycheck that he’d thanked Gary profusely for, his random piece of mail addressed to his apartment, and sat there. He had his passport, and even his library card at the ready, in case Yasmeen, as she asked him to call her, needed more corroboration of his identity.

“NCIS?” she examined his ID.

“Yup.”

“Just up at the Navy Yard?”

“Yeah,” Tony was still panting. “Sorry, I ran here because I forgot my winter coat at work and couldn’t go get it, and it’s just been a terrible, terrible day. Long story, which I won’t bore you with. I know, it’s not relevant right now.”

“It’s fine,” Yasmeen smiled. She was a middle aged, serene looking dark haired woman with a gentle smile. “I’m just sorry that you’re experiencing all of these troubles, Agent DiNozzo.”

Tony waved it away. “I’ll get over it.”

“Okay, so give me a minute and we’ll get everything all straightened out.” Yasmeen gathered all the items he’d pulled out of his backpack and went to make copies and talk to people before she came back. “We’ve verified who you are and the fact that you are in possession of your debit card really helps. And that you know all the answers to your security questions.”

Tony rubbed his face. “Yeah.”

“Give me a moment here,” she started tapping away at her keyboard. “And we’ll reactivate all of your accounts.”

“Thank you.”

“We’ll need you to answer some new security questions.”

“God, yes,” Tony blew out a long breath. “And this time I’m going to be as obscure as I can.”

“ _This_ time?” Yasmeen gave him a long look, her fingers still typing away. “So you do know who tried to basically clean you out yesterday?”

Tony shrugged and nodded.

“Family member?” her tone was gentle.

Tony nodded.

“Father, I’m guessing, from the ID we got,” she raised an eyebrow.

“We have the same name. A lot of people disregard the ‘Junior’ part in my name,” Tony shrugged again.

“So it’s happened before?” she was so impossibly nice and gentle that Tony couldn’t help but answer her.

He grimaced and nodded.

“You’re a Federal Agent.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I know.”

“But you can’t just arrest your own father.”

“He was probably shit faced and thought he could get away with this,” Tony made a face.

Yasmeen typed away in silence for a while and then she turned her screen and pushed her keyboard towards him. “Please select your three security questions and provide answers for them.”

Tony took a little extra time now, deliberately choosing things that he knew that Senior would have no way to know the answers. And then Yasmeen took her keyboard back and finished up whatever it was doing that would reactivate his accounts.

“Done,” she told him. “You are all set, Agent DiNozzo. In addition to reactivating your accounts, I’ve also put a note in to pay attention to the fact that there is a ‘Junior’ at the end of your legal name. Hopefully this will prevent something like this from happening again, at least here with our bank.”

“That’s perfect,” Tony smiled at her. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

She gave Tony a long look. “Agent DiNozzo, I know it’s none of my business…”

Tony sighed. Here it came. The unsolicited advice. No doubt about how he was an idiot and he should just let his own father get arrested for (and it wasn’t like Yasmeen even knew this part) _repeatedly_ stealing from him.

“But growing up, my father was a man people used to describe as a ‘drinker’,” she said softly. “He drank a lot, and he was constantly drunk. He was violent, and my mother tried very hard to hide us from him when he was in a mood. But sometimes she failed. And so sometimes my father would be angry at us and take his anger out on us.

Tony gulped and nodded. He was familiar with this behavior. His father, hell, even his mother had drank much too much. His father _still_ drank too much.

“But my story is neither here nor there,” Yasmeen continued. “Other than I wanted to relate to you that my father was constantly emptying our bank accounts. He drank away all of our pocket money, Christmas and birthday money, our babysitting wages. He drank away all of my mother’s wages. He didn’t even think that what he was doing was wrong.”

Tony nodded. Senior hadn’t been quite that out of control, but he was familiar with that behavior. People had used to call his mother and his father ‘drinkers’ too.

“The word we use for people like my father, and I suspect, your father, is ‘alcoholic’,” Yasmeen said.

Tony shrugged although he couldn’t help but nod. Yeah. How many times had he been batted about for not pouring the scotch correctly for his father when he wasn’t even ten years old yet? What child not even a decade old should be running around acting as his father’s bartender?

“It took me almost my entire life to realize this, but this is what I wanted to tell you,” she gave him a small smile and squeezed his hand across the desk. “You are not your father. And more importantly, you are not responsible for what he did when you were only a child, and you are not responsible for what he does now.”

Tony could only stare at her, eyes wide. Did he feel responsible for Senior? Was that why he never allowed any consequences to befall him? He thought for a moment and realized that yes, in fact, he did feel responsible for how Senior was. That he hadn’t been a good enough child. That he’d caused his mother so much grief that she died before her time. His father was only a horrible father because he’d been a horrible child. And yes, he knew that that wasn’t logical. He had been a child, so he couldn’t have been responsible for so much damage to his parents, could he? But yet, he couldn’t deny it. Not really.

“It is not your fault,” Yasmeen kept speaking softly. “You are not at fault. This is all on him. And if you were speaking to someone else, someone for a case, this is exactly what you would tell them. Right?”

Tony couldn’t help but nod now. Because yeah. If he was speaking to someone whose alcoholic father had just stolen their entire life savings, then he would have recommended that they at least let the police arrest him even if they didn’t want to press charges, to give them leverage to send the errant father to rehab.

“Did you… did you ever get him help?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

Yasmeen shook her head. “Liver cancer,” she said shortly. “He died two years ago.”

“Did you ever get him arrested?”

Yasmeen shook her head. “Although I stopped going to bail him out,” she admitted, as if it was her biggest shame. “My mother never gave up on him, and one of my sisters kept giving him money and bailing him out of trouble. But I decided I couldn’t do it anymore. There are many days when I don’t believe it, but today I am more convinced than ever, that it wasn’t my fault. It was his. Like it isn’t your fault, it is your father’s. He is responsible for his own actions. Stealing, even from one’s own child, is wrong. But our fathers did it.”

Tony nodded.

Yasmeen smiled at him. “It is not your fault. Remember this.”

He nodded.

“Call me if you want to speak. I belong to a support group – children of alcoholics,” she handed him her card.

Tony slipped it into his jacket and nodded.

“And if you don’t want to join a group, you can still call me, if you need to talk.”

Tony nodded again.

“Now, I’ll just get someone to deposit your paycheck then, okay?” She made to beckon to someone, back to being all business.

“No, no. It’s fine,” Tony took the check and signed the back. “It’s no trouble. I can just get in line like everyone else.” Truth was, he was in no rush to get back to work. His head was swirling with these things that Yasmeen had said to him. It was the first time anyone had ever even acknowledged that Senior was an alcoholic, and that his behavior was not Tony’s responsibility or fault. It was mind blowing. Not to mention, he wouldn’t mind hanging around inside the warm bank for a little while longer before he had to go back and brave the cold. He had a suit jacket on, sure, but it really couldn’t compare to his winter coat. Hell, he’d forgotten his scarf at home probably.

“Very well,” Yasmeen held out her hand and Tony shook it.

“Thank you again,” Tony said, filled with gratitude.

Tony smiled at her as he pushed everything back into his backpack and zipped it up. He patted his pockets for a moment before he realized that he didn’t have his phone with him since he’d handed that to Jackson to occupy the older Gibbs’ time. Well. That was that. He made his way to the back of the line for tellers, and tried not to vibrate too much as he waited for his turn. So much to think about.

Not that he was going to call the cops on Senior. But maybe he could figure out a way to stop feeling like Senior’s actions somehow reflected poorly on him. Because Senior was the parent. He was not Senior’s father. Therefore, technically, it was Tony’s behavior that reflected upon Senior. He’d turned out okay for how Senior had treated him all his life. God knew how he’d ended up not someone who thought the bottom of the bottle was the best place to be.


	4. Chapter 4

He was lost in thought and moving his way up the line when he idly notice a teller who suddenly paled and looked extremely nervous. Careful not to draw attention to himself, Tony surreptitiously kept his eye on the customer the nervous teller was serving. She was filling up a bag with what looked to be little bundles of cash. He sighed. Of course this was happening. His truly lovely day could only be improved by being at the bank while it was being robbed. He kept his head down and tried to note as many details about the robber as he could. They’d had that seminar on what to do when witnessing a bank robbery and the biggest, most important thing to do was to keep your head down and not interrupt the robbery. Bank robberies occurred fairly often. But, banks were insured and tellers didn’t have that much in their drawers anymore. It wasn’t like they could just go open the vault to fill up a bag, what with all the security measures installed on bank vaults these days. Despite what you saw in movies or any of your instincts to the contrary, the best thing to do was to just let it happen. If the robber was interrupted, then things could escalate into a hostage situation and this was usually when people got hurt. So. Bottom line. Shut up and act normal. Which Tony could definitely do, although he did scan the bank as casually as he could, to see if he could spot if the robber had an accomplice. So far so good. Nobody else seemed to be acting any differently.

Although, the way the robber was acting, he was a pro. He kept his head down and away from the cameras, and he wasn’t behaving at all sketchy. No big moves, no tell tale fidgets, nothing at all that would draw suspicion to him. He just wanted the money in the drawer and then he would leave. So Tony relaxed and breathed slowly, not wanting to telegraph that he’d spotted what was going on. Things to do according to the training: let the guy go, try to get a good description, and make a note of which way he leaves. Three things that Tony could do without breaking a sweat. But he kept his eyes open as discreetly as he could, and he really wished he had his phone on him so he could text this to McGee. Secret backup just waiting to nab the guy as he exited would be sweet. But quite out of reach at this time.

The line moved slowly and Tony was a few customers away from it being his turn when he noticed something as he scanned the bank. A security guard was trying to sneak up on the robber at the teller’s window. Goddamnit. He mentally smacked his face with his palm. No. Seriously. Just no. A wannabe hero rent a cop who catches the bank robber? God damn it. Didn’t bank security get the training? Shouldn’t they know that trying to stop what should be a bloodless bank robbery could cause bloodshed? What the _hell_? And the man was so intent on his target that there was nothing Tony could have done to get his attention, save yelling or something. Shit. What could he do? Nothing. He had to let it play out for now.

He sighed, mentally swearing up a storm. Apparently, his already terrible day was headed down all the way towards abysmal.

It was like a comedy of errors. The security guard, with shaking hands, drew his gun and told the robber to get his hands up. The robber claimed to be a customer, and the pale and terrified teller agreed that he was a customer, when he looked to her for confirmation. The guard refused to put his gun down and insisted that the robber raise his hands.

Tony was so seriously hoping that the robber _wasn’t_ armed, but what were the chances of that happening? Tony was never that lucky.

The robber sighed and pulled a gun out of his pocket and pointed it at the security guard. And then the woman in front of Tony saw what was going on and started screaming, and then people started to panic.

Tony kept his eyes on the action unfolding and tried to quiet the screaming woman down. The security guard’s fingers were shaking almost uncontrollably, and he was sweating so much that Tony was worried that his finger would slip on the trigger. And in his state, if he took a shot, he could even accidentally hit someone else instead of the person right in front of him.

“You should put your gun down, friend,” the robber said calmly. “I’m going to take my bag and leave. No fuss.”

“No,” the security guard shook his head and wiped sweat off his forehead with his shoulder. “I can’t let you do that. That’s not how this is going down.”

 _Seriously_? Tony couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Where did this kid get his dialogue? Tony’s watched way more movies about bank heists than this kid, and he could definitely write a much less clichéd script for this scenario. He looked around the bank at all of the people who were screaming and cowering, and he caught Yasmeen looking at him. He rolled his eyes at her and shrugged and she looked at him, eyes large with fear. He shook his head, both asking her not to do anything and signaling that he wasn’t going to do anything to escalate the situation either, and she nodded.

“Hey, can we just calm down here?” Tony stepped to the front of the line, addressing the security guard.

“Are you with him? Are you an accomplice?” the security guard’s wavering gun turned to point at Tony now and the customers all screamed.

Tony found it difficult to resist rolling his eyes. Holy god. Everything that the training said not to do? This security guard was _absolutely_ doing it all.

“Buddy, I’m not an accomplice, but you’re waving a loaded gun with women and children around,” Tony said calmly. “You need to stop and let the man go, and we can let everyone calm down.”

“You _are_ an accomplice!” the guard yelled.

“No I’m not,” Tony said firmly. “I’m just trying to get us all out of this situation without anyone getting hurt.”

“Raise your hands!” the guard yelled at him.

The robber caught Tony’s eye and unlike Tony, the robber didn’t resist the urge to roll his eyes. And this time, Tony couldn’t stop himself from sighing in frustration. He slowly raised his hands, and his suit jacket which was unbuttoned, opened wide in the front, which of course, displayed the NCIS badge clipped to his belt, and the holster, where his service weapon gleamed.

“Gun!” the guard yelled, causing everyone to scream even louder.

The robber expertly relieved the rent-a-cop of his gun and pushed him to the floor, and Tony closed his eyes, tipped his head up to the ceiling, and shook his head. What an idiot. Nothing worse than a kid who thinks he can be a hero, even when all the training pointed towards doing something completely different. Tony couldn’t help but blame movies and the hero complexes that these movies fostered, even though he himself was a movie addict.

“Didn’t you see the badge on his belt?” the robber yelled at the guard now lying face down on the floor. “He’s a goddamned cop.”

“Look, dude. I’m really not interested in doing anything to disrupt your plans,” Tony told the robber. “I’m just in line for a teller, like all these good people here. Take the money and go. No one will do anything to stop you.”

“I need you to disarm. Put your gun down and kick it to me.”

“Sir, I can’t give you my service weapon. I’ll put it down on the ground, but I’m not going to kick it over to you. Because if I do, and you get my gun, you’re bringing the wrath of DC Metro, the Feebies, and NCIS down on you. You know what people like me are like with our service weapons if they go missing.”

“NCIS?” the man frowned.

“Basically, the Navy Cops. That’s what I am. This, what’s going on here, is _so_ not my jurisdiction. I’m just a client, like all these scared people here are. I just want to make sure nobody gets hurt, so please, take the money and exit the building,” Tony spoke calmly, keeping his hands up.

The man’s eyes narrowed. “NCIS?” he asked again.

“Yeah. So I have no jurisdiction here, not unless you’re US Navy or a Marine,” Tony gave him a look. “And you definitely don’t look like a Marine.”

The man nodded. “I still need you to disarm. You don’t need to hand me your weapon.”

“Of course,” Tony nodded. He narrated exactly what he was about to do before he did it, keeping his movements and words slow. He removed the clip and emptied the round chambered in his SIG Sauer, pocketing both the clip and the loose bullet. He put the gun on the floor and gently kicked it out of his own reach but not towards the robber. Everyone else was standing still.

The robber took a look around and started to walk away to the side exit nearby, keeping his gun mostly trained on Tony even though he was trying his hardest to look completely unthreatening. Tony was about to blow out a relieved breath when of course it would all go down the drain. Again. Because again, the stupid wanna be hero rent-a-cop tried to get the jump on the robber, springing up from the floor and knocking him down. The gun went off twice, and Tony felt a fiery pain go through his body.

“Mother _fucker_!” he growled, moving quickly to the two men struggling on the floor. He kicked the robber’s gun out of his grasp, picking it up in what should have been a smooth move, but his body wasn’t cooperating, so it was kind of a clumsy move. But whatever. It worked. He had the loaded gun in his hand. Ignoring the pain still blooming in his body, he whipped his cuffs out.

“Freeze,” he told the two men, his voice icy now.

Both men obeyed, looking up at him. The rent-a-cop was starting to look smug, but Tony was really not having it right now.

“Bruce Willis, you move on to the side,” Tony gestured to the security guard with his gun. “Get on the floor, face down, and place your hands on the back of your head. You too, dude,” he told the robber.

The robber immediately obeyed, and Tony had to pull out his best Gibbs’ death glare before the rent-a-cop scuttled over a few feet and laid out face down on the floor. Tony went to the robber, cuffed his hands behind his back, and patted him down, ensuring that there were no other weapons hidden on the man.

“Please stay down, sir,” Tony told him. He stood, trying not to sway now. “Someone please tell me they already called 9-1-1?” he asked mildly, not directing his question to anybody specific but just in the general direction of the people currently in the bank.

Several people raised their hands and nodded.

“Good,” Tony sighed. “If I had a zip tie, you’d be secured too, you fucking menace to society,” Tony told the security guard when he tried to move. “Stay down and don’t move, until the cops get here. Did anyone else get shot?”

A woman was sitting on the floor, holding her arm, which was bleeding. A couple of people were tending to her but Tony could see that it wasn’t bad.

“Agent DiNozzo,” Yasmeen was suddenly at his elbow, helping to steady him. “You should probably sit down.”

“Need to watch them,” Tony told her, pointing to the two men on the floor.

“We hear the sirens now,” Yasmeen told him. “Everyone is staying put until the police are here.”

“Oh good, because you know, this is just not my jurisdiction,” Tony murmured, his knees starting to wobble. He allowed Yasmeen to help him settle down on the floor. “Can someone please bring me my service weapon?” he asked. A moment later it was placed in his hand. He holstered it with clumsy fingers. “You wouldn’t believe the paperwork I have to fill out if I lose my gun,” he told Yasmeen and the robber, his tone conversational and friendly.

“I can imagine,” Yasmeen said. She’d taken her jacket off and was putting pressure on where Tony was bleeding profusely. “Can I get you to lie down?”

Tony shook his head. “Keeping my eye on that one,” he nodded at the security guard. “You hear me, asshole? I _see_ you,” he yelled at the guy. “Member FDIC means something, you know? Didn’t you take the training on what to do during a bank robbery? Or how about what _not_ to do during a bank robbery? _Huh_? Because what you just did today? Textbook on what not to do, buddy!”

“I think you’re probably getting delirious with blood loss, Agent DiNozzo,” Yasmeen’s tone was still gentle.

“I’m mouthy in general,” he told her, grinning. “And you should call me Tony. Fuck, that hurts,” he finally whimpered a little when she pressed down on the wound again.

“I totally didn’t mean to shoot you, man,” the robber spoke up.

“I know,” Tony told the guy. “I know. This should not have gone down like this. Yasmeen, is the woman doing okay? The other one who was shot?”

Yasmeen turned and looked around before she nodded. “Yes. She seems to be in better shape than you are.”

“Can’t plan for the idiots in this world,” Tony grumbled. “Textbook no-nos, that one. You hear me? Yippee ki-yay, motherfucker?” he raised his voice at the final sentence and glared at the security guard again.

“Shhh,” Yasmeen told him.

“Agent, you need to stay still,” the robber told him softly. “I don’t need no federal agent dying on me.”

Tony giggled at that. “God, that would totally make this a very bad day for you,” he agreed. “I was already having the mother of all bad days today and now this…” he sighed. “Figures.” Things were getting fuzzy now, and Tony saw that cops were now running into the bank. “Cavalry’s here,” he sighed.

“You can relax now,” Yasmeen told him. “Is there anyone I should call for you?”

It was on the tip of Tony’s tongue to ask for Gibbs, but given that he’d be lucky to still even have a job, it was probably unwise to call Gibbs. Which left no one. So he shook his head. “No. No one,” he said softly. “Maybe a lawyer for this guy, because seriously, dude, I don’t blame you for shooting me.”

“Appreciate it,” the robber said.

“Although I do blame you for bringing a gun to this thing. Should never do that,” Tony advised him.

“Okay, buddy, I’ll remember for the next time,” the robber agreed. “You hang in there, okay? I don’t need felony murder on my rap sheet.”

“I’m like a bad penny. Don’t count me out yet,” Tony assured him. Something was niggling at the edges of Tony’s consciousness now. “Hey Yasmeen, I still need to deposit my paycheck though. Can you get someone to do it for me?”

“He really was just a client?” the security guard asked.

“Shut up!” Tony glared at him until he put his head back down.

Yasmeen took the bloodied pieces of paper from him and nodded. “I’ll take care of it, Tony.”

He tried not to giggle because that was what he should have had her do in the first place, because then he would have been out of there before the dramatics could take place. What the hell was his life? But if Yasmeen deposited his pay, then his mortgage payment wouldn’t bounce and everything would be right with the world. Well, as right as anything could be right now. He could figure out what to do with the rest of his life now that Gibbs had fired him, after the doctors fixed the whole gunshot wound thing. Yeah. Definitely.

He was lucid up until the point that the police took the robber into custody and he was awake enough to point at the security guard and blame it all on him before things went dark. His last thought was worry about Kate because could his goldfish make it in the cold and nobody home to feed her…?

********* NCIS SESA NCIS SESA *********

Gibbs drove his usual breakneck speed and general disregard for traffic laws to get to Bethesda as quickly as possible in DC traffic.

“Dr Pitt is off for the holidays,” McGee reported back. He’d been on hold for a while.

“Try his cell?” Gibbs asked.

“I don’t have his number.”

“DiNozzo does,” Gibbs jerked his chin at his dad. “You still have DiNozzo’s phone, Dad?”

Jackson felt his pockets and pulled out Tony’s iPhone, handing it to McGee. The junior agent was on the phone calling Brad Pitt’s cell within moments but Gibbs could hear him leave a fairly generic voicemail.

“Dr Pitt is out of the country for the holidays,” McGee reported back. “No cell service, according to his outgoing voicemail message. Not till after the new year.”

Gibbs blew out a sigh. What the hell had happened to DiNozzo? Who walks into a bank to talk about their messed up bank account and comes out with a gunshot wound? DiNozzo, of course. What was Gibbs even thinking? The man was a walking trouble magnet. But he was Gibbs’ walking trouble magnet, and the thought that Tony had been shot and that the last words they had exchanged were angry ones didn’t sit right with Gibbs. Tony was one of those people who was secretly a kind and gentle person. Tony wasn’t one who yelled in anger. He didn’t yell, unless it was for effect. He was clever and calculative, and he was subtle and secretive. What people saw was only what Tony wanted people to see. Gibbs would have to keep reminding himself of that because sometimes Tony’s masks were so good that even he kept falling for them.

But when they got there, first, they were told that Tony was still in surgery. And nobody could tell them exactly what had happened, or even how seriously Tony had been shot. Then when Ducky arrived, he used his medical privileges to go check out Tony’s file and returned with news that Tony had, in fact, been out of surgery for a while. So they finally managed to find out that he was possibly somewhere post-op. Christmas time at Bethesda General was apparently a madhouse and they weren’t quite sure what had happened to Tony, but that other cops had also been asking about him.

Gibbs immediately latched on to that, and asked McGee to call Tony’s contacts at Metro to figure out what was going on. Finally, they tracked him down and were headed to Tony’s post-op room to see him when a pair of DC Metro detectives were on their way down the hall going in the opposite direction.

“Hey,” Gibbs called out. “DC Metro, right? Are you here to speak to Agent Anthony DiNozzo?”

They nodded, looking wary until Gibbs pulled out his badge. “I’m Gibbs,” he pointed to his team. “McGee. David. My dad.”

“We already talked to him,” one detective said.

“Tony’s boss, right?” the other one asked.

“Ex-boss? He said you fired him?” the other one looked at him curiously.

“I _didn’t_ fire him,” Gibbs barked. “I guess he’s alive then? Awake?”

“Oh yeah. The nurses said it nicked an artery but they’ve repaired it and he’s had a couple of transfusions, so he’s fine. A little loopy though. He’s on the good pain meds,” the first detective said.

“I can’t believe he was more upset with the stupid rent-a-cop than he was with the actual bank robber,” the other detective chuckled.

“There was a _robbery_?” Gibbs exclaimed.

“Your boy was by the book, Gibbs,” Fornell’s voice surprised them. The FBI agent walked up to them. “Absolutely by the book. Everyone had only good things to say about how he handled himself. Even the bank robber.”

“Fornell,” Gibbs nodded at him. “Why the hell didn’t you _call_ me?”

“DiNozzo told me you fired him today,” Fornell shrugged. “Asked me not to call you.”

Gibbs sighed. “I did _not_ fire him. Not today. Not any day. Not ever.”

“Might want to try telling your boy that sometime, huh?” Fornell nudged him with a shoulder.

“I was surprised to find him at the scene today,” the detective said. “We had just been talking this morning about cases he was asking me to look around for. With the rope thing?”

“DiNozzo sink his teeth on something good?” Fornell perked up.

“We’ll read you in if we need to,” Gibbs sneered at him. “Stop poaching our cases. And my Senior Field Agent. Now tell me about this bank robbery.”

They stood in the hallway where Fornell and the detectives recounted what had happened in the bank that day, and Gibbs could see Jackson growing even more concerned by the second. He knew he was, too. So they finished their conversation and hustled to Tony’s room.

Gibbs burst in through the door to find an empty bed, the machines surrounding it still beeping, except for the heart monitor which looked like the sound had been shut off. He felt the bed, finding it only a little bit warm, which meant that it hadn’t been too long since Tony left it.

“DiNozzo!” he yelled, heart pounding. He looked in the bathroom, illogically he even peered under the bed, just in case. But there was no DiNozzo.

McGee snagged a passing nurse and pulled her into the room.

“Where’s Agent DiNozzo?” McGee asked, pulling out his ID. “We’re his team.”

The nurse frowned. “Brown hair, pretty green eyes. Very cute?” she asked. “And very chatty? Especially all hopped up on pain meds?”

“Yes,” Ziva agreed. “Very pretty eyes. His lips are also quite sexy.”

“I didn’t need to hear that,” McGee grumbled, although the nurse smiled in agreement.

It made Gibbs want to strangle her. And Ziva. Pretty eyes and sexy lips. Damn them.

“He checked himself out of here AMA,” the nurse said, pulling the clipboard that was still hanging at the end of the bed. “Maybe ten minutes ago?”

While they were chatting away with Fornell and Metro out in the hallway. Gibbs growled angrily to himself.

“AMA?” Jackson asked her.

“Oh, against medical advice,” the nurse explained. “The doctors wanted to keep him here at least another couple days?”

“What’s his condition?” Gibbs asked. “I’m his emergency contact and no one can tell me how he is.”

“Bullet was through and through, right here below his clavicle,” the nurse told them after she verified that Gibbs was Tony’s emergency contact. She pointed to right below her collar bone. “The bullet hit an artery so he was bleeding out, but he was really lucky because it didn’t do anything to his clavicle or hit any internal organs. The surgeons patched the artery right up and he was given two pints of plasma. He checked himself out of here even though he’s really not in any condition to leave. But he insisted. He’s not someone anyone can say no to,” the nurse sounded impressed.

Gibbs snorted. Yeah. He was familiar with that side of DiNozzo, the side that could wheedle anything out of anyone, including Gibbs.

“Why would he leave the hospital?” Jackson wondered.

“He hates hospitals,” both Gibbs and McGee answered.

Jackson pursed his lips. “Enough to leave?”

“Oh yeah,” Gibbs nodded. “Last time he only stayed because I ordered him to stay.”

“Where did he go?” McGee asked the nurse.

“He didn’t say,” the nurse made a face. “I assumed he was going home.”

“We should check his apartment,” Ziva agreed.

A short drive later, Gibbs pulled up to Tony’s building. The entire place was dark, and the parking lot was practically empty, although Tony’s car was in his usual spot. Which didn’t really mean anything since he couldn’t get it started this morning. Gibbs stared at the darkened building before he remembered. Right. The building had been evacuated. Gibbs sighed.

“Dad, I’m going to ask you to stay in the car,” he turned to Jackson. “DiNozzo lives on the eighth floor and the elevator’s out of commission. No power.”

Jackson nodded.

“McGee, stay with my dad.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ziva, with me.”

They pulled out their flashlights and Gibbs let them into the building with the spare key DiNozzo had given to him when the man had first moved into the building all those years ago. They went up the stairwell, their footsteps echoing in the quiet building. It was freezing in the building. When they got to the fifth floor, they had to skirt around patches of ice in the stairwell, and it got progressively worse as they got up to the eighth. They walked down the hallway, picking their way around ice or walking across big patches as carefully as they could.

“This is a disaster,” Ziva spoke.

Gibbs snorted. Yeah. Definitely.

“Black ice should be a road hazard and not one for walking down someone’s hallway,” she continued.

Gibbs couldn’t disagree. They got to DiNozzo’s door and stood there knocking.

“I do not think Tony is home,” Ziva said, giving the door a final loud knock. “Or perhaps, he might be unconscious?”

In a flash, Gibbs unlocked all three locks with his spare keys and he and Ziva walked into the cold, dark apartment. They checked every room out, calling out for Tony. But no one was home. There wasn’t an unconscious or worse Tony lying around so that was good. But where the hell was he?

Gibbs swung the flashlight around the apartment, looking around. He should probably get some of Tony’s clothes together. Tony would need a place to stay and he was hurt and upset and his father had just tried to drain his bank accounts two days before Christmas, so Gibbs would need to keep a close eye on him. It always got hinky, to use an Abby term, when Senior came around. Tony was always so jittery and crazy and flustered. And now that he’d been upset enough to yell at Gibbs and announce to the world that Senior’s Christmas gift to him was trying to rob him blind, well, Gibbs would definitely need to be on top of that or the man would absolutely just bury himself in guilt and he didn’t deserve that.

Gibbs sighed. He trained his flashlight on the mantel. “Ziva, take Kate and ask Abby to keep her for a while.”

“What?” Ziva looked puzzled.

Gibbs wiggled his light at the goldfish bowl on the mantel. The fish was moving sluggishly but it was still alive. “Kate,” he said impatiently. “The goldfish. Take her to Abby.”

“Right,” Ziva nodded. She carefully picked up the bowl and took the packet of fish food by the bowl.

“You and McGee can go home,” Gibbs said, heading into the bedroom. “Tell my dad I’ll be right down.”

Ziva nodded and was out of there. Gibbs went through Tony’s closet and packed a small duffel bag, mostly t-shirts, hoodies, and sweatpants, although he packed a couple pairs of jeans and some nice shirts and a sports jacket. Tony would need comfortable clothes to recuperate in, and a few other things. He would need to go back to the office at some point to pick up Tony’s winter coat and his go-bag which would have all the toiletries, because Gibbs drew the line at going through contents of Tony’s bathroom.

He locked the door behind him and went back to the car. Both Ziva and McGee were still there, keeping Jackson company. They’d called for a taxi and was waiting for it to arrive, and McGee was cooing at the fish, trying to warm the bowl up right by the heating vents.

Gibbs rolled his eyes at their antics.

Gibbs’ phone beeped, signaling a voicemail message, which surprised him, because it hadn’t actually rung. But his phone did that sometimes. He threw Tony’s duffel in the trunk and gratefully slid back into the driver’s seat of the warm car. It was cold out. He was even more worried now that Tony was out there, presumably still without a winter jacket.

He flipped his phone open to listen to the voicemail message.

“ _Boss? I mean, Gibbs. Wanted to let you know that Metro called me back and said that they found a few cases that matched what we were looking for, and my contact at Baltimore PD said the same thing. Tell Probie – I mean Tim – that I’ve emailed him what they sent to me,_ ” it was Tony’s voice. Gibbs almost dropped his phone in surprise. “ _I know you hate it, but it might be time to call Fornell. This might have to be a joint op for you guys. I’ll turn in my service weapon in a couple of days. It’s in evidence. Long story. Not that it matters. I’m not trying to make excuses. Tell Jackson I’m sorry I didn’t bring him a sandwich for lunch. Anyway… Thanks.”_

Gibbs sighed. Tony really did think he’d been fired. If he were here, Gibbs’ would have headslapped him to kingdom come. But right now, they didn’t even know where he was. The number came up as unknown, so maybe he had bought a burner cell phone or something. He replayed the voicemail on speaker, letting everyone hear it. And the second time around, his heart skipped a beat when Tony corrected himself, addressing him as Gibbs instead of Boss. It hurt to hear that Tony had already given up on the team, given up on Gibbs, and worst of all, given up on himself.

“McGee, can you check his credit cards to see if he’s checked into a hotel?” Gibbs asked as a taxi drove up.

“I’ll do it and keep an eye out for him, Boss,” McGee agreed. “I’ll take Kate to Abby and we can work together at her apartment to see if we can figure out where he is.”

“Thanks,” Gibbs said gruffly. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”


	5. Chapter 5

After both Ziva and McGee had left, Gibbs sat in the parking lot with his dad, trying to think. Where the hell could DiNozzo be? He called the Adams House Hotel to see if maybe Tony would have gone there, but no DiNozzo was registered there. Besides, this close to Christmas, most DC hotels were probably pretty filled. Where the hell was his wayward Senior Field Agent?

“You’ll find him,” Jackson said softly.

Gibbs nodded.

“I know you care about that boy.”

Gibbs sighed and scrubbed his face before he put the car in gear.

“You know, he always said that when he was hurt, he liked to hole up at your house,” Jackson was saying. “He sure thinks highly of you. And I think you’ve taken good care of the boy all these years.”

“I didn’t fire him,” Gibbs couldn’t help it if it came out like a whiney teenager.

“I know that. But I don’t think he does.”

“Yeah.”

But something Jackson had said made Gibbs perk up. What did he say? When Tony was hurt, he liked to hole up at Gibbs’ house. Which was true. Gibbs tended to let him have his guest room for at least a night after a hospital stay. Hell, Tony used to find every excuse in the book to stay at Gibbs’. He’d somehow just latched on to Gibbs and Gibbs’ house as a safe haven. Gibbs stared at Jackson. Could DiNozzo be at his house? Could it be that easy? He drove like a madman to his house, screeching to a halt, disappointed that it was dark. Regardless, he went through the door and searched the house, top to bottom. Still no DiNozzo.

“He’s not here,” Gibbs couldn’t believe how disappointed he was to tell Jackson that when his father walked in the front door.

“I’m sorry, son.”

He shook his head. “We’ll find him.”

“I know you will.”

“I’m going to head back to the office.”

“Work?”

“No,” Gibbs sighed. “Need to pick up DiNozzo’s go bag and his winter coat. He left it there.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Gibbs put a hand on his father’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m sorry I was… you know… to you, earlier.”

His father smiled at him, blue eyes crinkling up. “I know, son.”

They drove back to the Navy Yard and went up to the squad room. Gibbs headed straight to Tony’s desk, handing the coat Tony had slung carelessly on his cubicle wall to his father, and reaching under the desk to pull out Tony’s go bag.

He yelped when his hand hit warm flesh. He was immediately on his knees, looking under the desk. And it took everything in him not to slap the head of his sleeping Senior Field Agent.

“He’s here,” Gibbs looked up at his father, who was now grinning like a loon. “This whole time, he came back here.”

“Sleeping under the desk?” Jackson lowered himself to the floor to peek at the sleeping man.

Gibbs couldn’t help but run his fingers through Tony’s soft hair. He was curled up in what looked to be a really uncomfortable position under his desk, buried under an Ohio State University fleece blanket. The blanket had been a gift from Gibbs last year, and Tony used it every time they had to spend the night at the office.

Gibbs’ phone chirped and he picked up.

“Boss, he hasn’t used his credit cards at all,” McGee burst out. “I can’t find him _anywhere_.”

“It’s fine, McGee. You can stand down,” Gibbs continued to pet Tony’s hair.

“Did you find him?”

“Yeah. Just did. Under his desk at work.”

McGee sighed with relief and yelled to Abby that they’d found Tony. Gibbs hung up to focus on Tony. They needed to get him out from under his desk and back to Gibbs’ house.

“DiNozzo,” he kept his tone gentle as he tapped Tony’s head. “Tony.”

Tony mumbled some kind of protest, but Gibbs couldn’t make out the words.

“DiNozzo,” Gibbs put a little more bark in his voice.

“Yeah, Boss,” Tony drawled out sleepily.

“You with me?”

“Alwayssss,” Tony slurred.

“I don’t think he’s really with you,” Jackson grinned at him.

“Ya think?” Gibbs shook his head. “DiNozzo has a terrible reaction to painkillers. Makes him loopy.”

“’ve you seen my fingers, Boss?” Tony’s voice floated out from under his desk. “Mighta gotten them shot off or something.”

“Your fingers are fine.” Gibbs started to pull the man out from behind his desk.

Tony was wrapped in his OSU blanket, looking adorably mussed and confused.

“Wha’s going on?” he asked, squinting and blinking at the bright lights of the squad room. “So damned orange! Always makes me feel like I should be eating oranges. Which is good. Then I won’t get scurvy. Or was that rickets? I don’t know. The pirate disease. Pirates get it. Scurvy? Or rickets? Or scurvy? Arrrrrrrrrrrrr mateyyyyy…”

Jackson was laughing out loud now.

“I know,” Gibbs told the loopy man. “You want to get your coat on?”

“Why? You kicking me out?” Tony’s eyes were huge and sad. “I fucked up, Boss.”

“No, DiNozzo,” Gibbs pulled him into an awkward hug. “You didn’t fuck up. I fucked up.”

“Must be dyin’…” Tony muttered.

“Who’s dying?” Jackson asked.

“Me!” Tony gave Jackson the happiest smile.

“You’re not dying,” Jackson assured him.

Tony frowned at Gibbs’ father. “Dunno. That was like… an a-a-a-apology? Apiary? Apoplexy? Apostrophe? App…” Tony shook his head. “’S unnatural. Must be dyin’.”

“Nobody’s dying,” Gibbs said impatiently. “Come on. Let’s get up.” He tried to yank his drug-addled SFA up but he let out a pained yelp and curled into himself.

“Hurts,” he whimpered.

Gibbs immediately regretted it. Tony had been shot and he hadn’t even checked to see if he was okay and there he was manhandling him as if he was 100%. “Let’s get you out of the blanket, okay?” he gentled his tone.

“I like my blankie,” Tony pouted, petting his blanket affectionately. “’S _my_ blankie. Gibbs gave it to me.”

“I know,” Gibbs had to bite his tongue from calling the man an endearment in front of his sharp-eared father. Jackson was already looking much too intrigued by this conversation for Gibbs’ liking. “But I need to see where you’re hurt.”

“Won’t ever recover,” Tony sighed. “Gibbs fired me. ‘S all my fault. Yelled at him. Like, like, Ol’ Yeller. Yeah. They shoulda taken me out back and just shot me. Like Ol’ Yeller. Then I wouldn’t have to yell anymore. Nobody likes yellin’.”

Gibbs resisted scrubbing his face and sighing. Instead he tried again. “Tony, you’re not fired.”

“I can’t even give Gibbs back my gun. Metro took it… right out of my finging. Finge. Fingering. Fringe? Fringers?” Tony looked confused.

“Fingers. I know. But you’re not fired,” Gibbs repeated, trying to get the blanket off him now. He finally unwrapped Tony and found that one arm was tightly bound to his body in a sling, and he was still wearing scrubs from the hospital. “Where are your clothes?” he asked.

“With my gun…” Tony sighed. “I’m cold…” he whined.

Of course they’d taken his clothes as evidence. Gibbs sighed. This was getting more complicated by the second. Tony didn’t even have proper shoes on his feet, just those thick socks with the little rubber circles to make them not slippery that patients at the hospital were given. How the hell he had gotten back here with no clothes, no winter coat, and no shoes, Gibbs didn’t know.

Jackson handed Gibbs Tony’s jacket and together they got it on him, and zipped it up, one sleeve armless because of the sling, and they also went ahead and wrapped the blanket securely around him again since he’d started shivering. They managed to wrestle him into his chair, getting him off the floor, even though Tony whined about going back under the desk because he was sleepy.

“Dad, can you take his go bag to the car, and get the car warmed up for us?” Gibbs handed his dad the keys and DiNozzo’s go bag.

Jackson nodded, but he stopped to kiss Tony’s forehead and ruffle his hair, and Gibbs watched as his grown ass Senior Field Agent leaned into his father’s hand like a puppy.

“Wish you were _my_ dad,” Tony muttered, breaking Gibbs’ heart. “I really do.”

“I know, buddy,” Jackson sighed, hugging him carefully. “You deserve a good dad.”

“Yasmeen said it’s not my fault Senior’s an asshole,” he mumbled softly. “Think she’s wrong.”

“Yasmeen’s not wrong, whoever she is,” Jackson told him firmly. “You’re not why your father’s an asshole. It’s not your fault.”

Tony snorted, but then his eyelids started drooping, and Gibbs could see his pupils dilate even more and knew that he was close to passing out again.

“Let’s get this show on the road, Dad,” he nodded to Jackson.

“See you down there, son,” Jackson gave Tony a last hug, grabbed the go bag and keys and strode off.

When the elevator doors closed on his father, Gibbs began looking around Tony’s desk to see if it needed to be tidied up but everything was in order, except Tony had a cardboard box on the desk that had his Mighty Mouse stapler in it. He sighed. Tony had apparently convinced himself that he was fired so much so that he was starting to pack his stuff. Gibbs was glad that Tony had taken the painkiller and crawled under his desk, because he didn’t know if he could have handled coming in to work and seeing that Tony’s desk had been cleared.

He put the Mighty Mouse stapler back and stuck the box under Tony’s desk before he grabbed a few case files and stuffed them into Tony’s backpack. Tony was bad at doing nothing. He would need something to keep him occupied. He made sure Tony’s laptop was in the backpack, looked around again, before he shouldered the backpack. Tony was sitting in the chair, propping his chin up with an elbow on the desk, already listing to the side and starting to drool.

“Come on,” he gently shook Tony awake, ignoring Tony’s mutterings about being jobless and homeless and penniless. He helped the younger man stand, draped Tony’s unhurt arm over his shoulders and put his arm around Tony’s back to support him, and got him to his feet. “Let’s go home.”

“Don’t have one,” Tony mumbled. “’S all flooded.”

“You’re coming home with me.”

“But Gibbs fired me.”

“No I didn’t,” Gibbs was tired of telling everyone that.

“Yeah he did.”

“No. I. Didn’t.”

“I don’t understand…” he whined.

“I know, baby. But it’s time to go home. Okay?” the endearment slipped out, and Tony clutched at his shirt with his good hand, put his head on Gibbs’ shoulder, tucking his face into Gibbs neck, making him gasp when Tony’s hot breath whuffed against his neck, making a stab of arousal go through him.

Whatever. He blew out a long breath and shook it off. He needed to keep his head clear and get them moving. Together, they made it to the lobby where Jackson had the car right by the entrance, waiting for them. His eyes bugged out when he saw that Tony had draped himself all over Gibbs but he didn’t say a word about it. Instead, he helped Gibbs get Tony into the back seat, and Gibbs strapped him in. Jackson didn’t even say a word when Gibbs drove them home in a completely un-Gibbs like manner, obeying all traffic laws, and careful not to do anything like take curves and turns too quickly and jostle the injured man in the back seat.

They couldn’t wake him when they got home. He’d passed out in the car, so Gibbs sent Jackson to get the bed in the downstairs guest room made while he managed to get Tony out of the car and over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Jackson helped him ease the man onto the bed without jostling his arm, and then they had to fight to unwrap him from the blanket and the winter coat. Gibbs was panting and out of breath by the end of it, and he watched as Jackson tucked his second in, and ran gentle fingers through his hair.

“Poor kid,” Jackson sighed.

Gibbs nodded. He got Jackson settled in for the night and went down to the basement. First he called Vance’s office and left a message informing him that his team was taking the next few days off. They’d been working too hard, and even though Gibbs hated not to work during Christmas, he felt he owed his team the time off. Then he called Fornell and told him they would share their lead and work with the FBI with this case that they probably had that crossed both their jurisdictions. McGee would speak to him with the details in the morning. With Tony down like this, he didn’t want the case to wait too long before they moved forward with it. Then he started working on his boat for a couple of hours, needing that to center himself so he’d be able to get some sleep.

Before he settled onto the couch for the night, he stopped to check on Tony. His agent was asleep, turned on his good side, the sling holding his arm securely in place and he was cradling it a little, obviously favoring it even in his drugged up condition. There was a puddle of drool on his pillow, and Gibbs couldn’t help the little lurch in his heart, seeing Tony’s face smoothed out in sleep. He looked so young. So peaceful. It was beautiful. _He_ was beautiful.

Gibbs sighed. He pulled the OSU blanket around Tony, and leaned down to press a kiss in Tony’s hair and take a long, deep breath, inhaling the scent of his favorite person – don’t tell Abby.

“Sleep tight, baby,” he whispered, caressing Tony’s face with the back of his hand, and Tony smiled in his sleep, making his heart skip a beat. He let his fingers linger on Tony’s face for a moment before he determinedly left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

********* NCIS SESA NCIS SESA *********

Tony slowly came awake and all he felt was warm and safe. It felt like it had been forever since he’d felt this way, so he kept his eyes closed and clung to that feeling, letting it soak into his aching body. Slowly, slowly, as he inched towards true awareness, he felt it. Everything hurt. His entire body was one big ball of hurt. And he really needed to empty his bladder.

He forced his eyes open and tried not to whimper in pain when he moved his arm. His shoulder hurt like a son of a bitch. He looked down and saw that he was covered up in blankets, including his favorite OSU blankie that Gibbs had given him for Christmas a couple of years ago. He looked around the room, not quite placing where he was. Even in the dark, the room seemed familiar. As if he should know it.

His other arm was exposed and an IV stuck into it. What the hell?

And then the memories of the previous day came back. Right. Homeless. Jobless. Penniless. Shot during the commission of a bank robbery. Then he’d gone back to the bullpen to clear out his desk but it had been so nice and warm there and he’d decided to spend the night since he didn’t have anywhere else to go, so he swallowed one of the loopiness-inducing painkillers they’d insisted he take with him. This way he would pass out under the desk for a few hours. But now, here he was lying in… an unfamiliar bed. Where was he?

He looked around the room. It felt familiar but he just wasn’t sure. And wherever the hell he was, they’d better have a bathroom because he had to go. So he gritted his teeth and sat up, trying not to moan as pain shot through his torso. God, he hurt. He pulled the IV out with his teeth, not wanting to move his other arm, and clumsily wrapped the OSU blankie around himself before he swung his feet onto the floor and forced himself upright.

A sound in the distance caught his attention. Was that… laughter? What the hell was going on?

He wobbled over to the door and pulled it open, carefully peeking out.

“Tony! You’re awake!” A flash of blue eyes and a wide smile caught his attention.

Instinctively he shut the door to hide himself. Was that Jackson Gibbs calling out to him? Could it be? Slowly he peered out again, squinting in the light of the hallway. Oh yeah. He was in Gibbs’ house, the downstairs guest room which he almost never went into, which was why he hadn’t recognized it.

“My dear boy,” Ducky was right in front of him, surprising him into a squeak.

“Ducky?” Tony whispered.

“Come on. You probably need to use the facilities, don’t you?” Ducky had the door open and was supporting him by the elbow, leading him through the kitchen where it seemed like there was a bunch of people sitting around Gibbs’ kitchen table, to the bathroom.

Tony relieved himself and washed up, looking at himself in the mirror. He was a mess. His hair was every which way, and he was in desperate need of a shave. And a shower. God. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d showered. Since before the whole disaster of the burst pipe at the apartment, certainly. Finally, he screwed up his courage. He couldn’t just hide in the bathroom all day, even if it sounded like a good idea. Could he? No. He had to face the music.

He opened the door and was surprised to see Jackson, McGee, Ducky, Abby, and Yasmeen Miller from the bank, sitting together, working on making food from what he could see. A mug was thrust in front of his face, causing him to squeak in surprise. It was Gibbs, handing him a mug of hot chocolate. With what looked like whipped cream and mini marshmallows swimming in it.

“Thanks,” Tony stared at everyone, feeling overwhelmed. “What’s going on? Why am I here? Yasmeen?”

“Sit, Tony, before you fall over,” Abby ushered him into a chair.

Ducky pushed a couple of pills at him.

“I’m going to hold off on those, Ducky,” Tony made a face, not wanting to get loopy in front of everyone here.

“These are just extra strength motrin, dear boy,” Ducky assured him. “They will take the edge off your pain, but will not cause you to hallucinate flying monkeys.”

Right. That had happened one time and Ducky had had to take care of a Tony shrieking in fear of flying monkeys. What? The Wizard of Oz can be pretty scary if you weren’t careful. He swallowed the pills, chasing it down with a mouthful of hot chocolate.

He sat in silence just drinking in the casual atmosphere that seemed to be filled with warmth and friendship, and just let it all sink in. This was nice. This was incredibly nice. But wasn’t he supposed to be fired? What the hell was going on?

“What’s going on?” Tony finally asked, wondering why Abby was sticking cloves into oranges.

“Gibbs got us Christmas off,” McGee told him gleefully.

“You know I couldn’t get flight home to New Orleans this year,” Abby chimed in. “So when Jackson called to invite me over, I had to come! The nuns understood.”

Tony looked around the room. “And Yasmeen?”

“Oh, that would be my fault,” Jackson owned up. “She called your cell phone, which, by the way, I still have. You have me hooked on tetris, young man! Anyway. Here it is…” he slid Tony’s phone towards him. “I answered, and she was just checking in to see if you were okay.”

“I went to the hospital to look for you,” Yasmeen scolded him. “But you’d already run off by then.”

“She wanted to look in on you, so I invited her over,” Jackson finished.

“It’s practically a party,” McGee’s eyes were wide.

“Gibbs even got a Christmas tree! But he said we had to wait for you to decorate it!” Abby clapped her hands.

“What?” Tony was even more confused now.

“So drink your hot chocolate, go get cleaned up, and we can eat and decorate,” Abby continued as if he hadn’t said a word.

“You know it’s better to just do what Abby you to do,” McGee told him sagely.

“You’re going to have to give up your recipe for caramel corn, mister,” Abby told him. “Because we’re going to have to make it so we can watch _It’s a Wonderful Life_.”

Tony had to be in the Twilight Zone. This was exactly what he’d always dreamed about. A holiday surrounded by the people he loved, by people he thought were his family, and doing all the things like eating together, decorating a Christmas tree, watching _It’s a Wonderful Life_. Everything he’d wanted to do as a child, but never got to do. Well, except for watching the movie with his mother. That part was a memory from his childhood. And a good one.

“Did I hit my head really hard yesterday?” he directed the question at Gibbs. Gibbs would tell him the truth. Even if he were hallucinating, Gibbs was always Gibbs and would give it to him straight up.

Everyone quieted down then, and they all stared at Tony. Okay. So now this dream was moving towards a nightmare. He was probably naked and everyone could see… he looked down and saw that he was still dressed in hospital scrubs and the blanket wrapped around him. Okay. So not the naked in the squad room dream then.

Gibbs sighed. “It’s Christmas morning,” Gibbs told him. “You’ve been out of it for the last thirty six hours or so. Ducky’s been here, making sure you didn’t damage yourself worse after checking yourself out of the hospital against medical advice. Dad and I found you under your desk and brought you home after you left the hospital. We have the next few days off, Ziva went skiing, Palmer is with his family, everyone else is here. Questions?”

Tony shook his head.

“Good. Let’s get you cleaned up,” Gibbs helped Tony stand.

“Draw him a bath, Jethro,” Ducky said placidly. “I don’t think the boy will be able to stand for very long.”

Gibbs sighed and nodded, helping him up the stairs. Tony turned to look at everyone, still confused and shocked. But Gibbs started the water running, peeled the clothes off of him even though he strapped the sling right back on.

“Keep that arm immobile and keep your wound out of the water,” he told Tony sternly.

Then he helped settle Tony into the blissfully hot water, and Tony sighed, closing his eyes.

“You’re just going to fall asleep again, aren’t you?” Gibbs grumbled.

“Sorry…”

“Shut up, DiNozzo,” Gibbs’ words were rough, but his tone was gentle, so Tony relaxed, letting his eyes droop shut.

Before he knew it, Gibbs was rubbing a washcloth over his aching body, cleaning the dirt and grime and blood off of him. He shampooed and conditioned his hair.

“Thought you fired me,” Tony mumbled as Gibbs rinsed the conditioner out of his hair.

“I did not fire you,” Gibbs growled at him. “You’d know it if I did.”

“But I yelled at you.”

Gibbs sighed. “I’m only going to tell you this once,” he finally said, using his ‘bad cop’ tone. “I was a bastard and I was out of line with that shit I said to you. It was my fault and not yours. So shut up, let’s get you clean and dry and dressed, so we can eat dinner and decorate the goddamned tree, and watch the movie you love to watch, and have a nice time, and never talk about the fact that you thought that I fired you because I didn’t fire you. Can we do that?”

Tony stared at him and nodded dumbly.

“Good. Close your eyes,” Gibbs rumbled. Tony obeyed, and Gibbs finished rinsing the conditioner out of his hair – god, was Gibbs conditioning his hair? Gibbs didn’t even have or use conditioner, or maybe even know what it was. Tony’s eyes flew open and he saw that it was his own bottles of shampoo and conditioner that Gibbs had been using. And his own body wash.

Gibbs drained the tub and wrapped him in a towel, drying him, being incredibly gentle and careful around his wound. He even helped Tony dress and even though Tony was one of those people who was extremely blasé about nudity – what? He’d been sent to boarding school at a young age. Nothing was sacred in boys’ locker rooms – it made him blush to be treated so tenderly by Gibbs. If this was the _Twilight Zone_ , then he never wanted the show to end. But that glint in Gibbs’ eyes, just daring him to ask if he was being punked so Gibbs to smack the bejesus out of the back of his head assured him that this was real.

Gibbs dressed him in his most comfortable sweat pants and a zip up hoodie so he wouldn’t have to push his injured arm through a sleeve, and then they padded back downstairs to where the table had been set. Dinner was a festive affair, and Tony was starving so he ate. Afterwards, they forced him to relax on the couch while they decorated the tree. Then Abby wheedled the caramel corn recipe out of him, so they ate his special holiday caramel popcorn while they watched the movie, and halfway through the movie, Tony fell asleep with his head on Gibbs’ shoulder. He snuffled awake to see that another movie was on and everyone arranged around Gibbs’ old television set, but Tony was too comfortable, face buried in Gibbs’ chest, Gibbs’ arms around him, so he relaxed and went back to sleep.

Maybe he’d had a really, really bad day, but this all definitely made up for it. Hopefully he wouldn’t wake up to find that this had all only been a dream. He was going to enjoy it for the moment, and soak up being held by Gibbs and the atmosphere of family and friendship and holiday cheer that was currently suffusing Gibbs’ house. He wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He breathed Gibbs’ comforting scent in, luxuriated in feeling as if Gibbs cared deeply for him, and slept.

**Author's Note:**

> 01 JAN 2019
> 
> Happy New Year everyone! :D So this was my 2018 NCIS Secret Santa entry, written for the lovely geminiangel. And now that the authors have been revealed, I can say a few words here. Geminiangel, I have loved being a part of your cabal for the past couple of years, long may it last! And I look forward to more adventures with you and the rest of the cabal in this new year. I hope you enjoyed this story, I really wanted to try to write something special for you.
> 
> The title, of course, is totally stolen from Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by Judith Viorst, illustrated by Ray Cruz. I never actually read the book or watched the movie that had Steve Carell in it (what?? how could I have missed this?) but I felt like the title fit this story perfectly even when I started thinking about the story I wanted to write. The title just came to me, which, for those of you who may know me, titles are ridiculously hard for me to choose! so that was really awesome. it also shaped the story. I wanted to write a story where things are just completely ridiculously terrible, starting from the start of the day, building throughout the day, and ending up hopefully in a somewhat good place (in Gibbs' arms). LOL. hopefully this is what I achieved.
> 
> The song that I listened to incredibly obsessively as I wrote this was Daniel Powter's [Bad Day](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gH476CxJxfg), which, even though was released in 2005 always makes me think of the 90s for some reason.
> 
> And as always, huge thanks go out to Jacie for organizing this challenge. Thank you!! <3
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed the story. I certainly had so much fun writing it, and I hope that geminiangel enjoyed it as well! Happy New Year!! May 2019 be a good year for us all! <3 <3
> 
> -j  
> xoxo


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